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The extremely wealthy man you're newly dating thinks you deserve nothing but the best for your birthday. You struggle to accept that.
WC: 4.8k
TAGS: established (new) relationship, pwp
CW: fem!reader, mingyu being really rich, reader being really not, i think that's it lol
SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected piv, first time together, bondage, blindfolding, creampie, oral both receiving, face fucking
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR @gyuswhore!!! em&em, you truly deserve the world. thank you for putting so much life and light into everything you do and everyone you encounter. i hope this little piece of mingyu makes the day feel a little more special. I LOVE YOU FOREVER! and of course, a huge thank you to @sailorsoons and @starlightkyeom for mobilizing the em lovers army! you are so obviously very loved, em&em hehe. and to everyone else who isn't tumblr user gyuswhore... go wish her a happy (belated) birthday rn. or else. 🫵🏼 (not edited don't look at me bye)
You lean against the railing and watch as Mingyu swims toward the boarding ladder of his yacht, the thick ropes of muscle in his back glistening in the dying sunlight and flexing with each pull of the water. He takes his time, a soft smile on his lips as he enjoys his last moments in the sea. You left him down there half an hour ago in favor of the sun deck, where you've been anxiously trying to figure out how much your birthday is costing him.
There’s the staff he has to pay to man the boat. The endless food and drinks said staff kept offering you earlier as you laid out in the sun, insisting you were fine. The white gold Bulgari necklace he presented you with upon boarding (and insisted you continue to wear in the water despite your fear of losing it because he can “just get you another one”). The yacht itself.
You aren't by any means poor, but you are so far out of this tax bracket, you can't even tell if estimating that all of this cost millions of dollars is a wild exaggeration or a cute guess that would make the man you're dating giggle. It makes your stomach twist.
Mingyu disappears behind the boat as he finally reaches the boarding ladder and you sigh, pushing yourself away from the railing and plopping back down on one of the lounge chairs miserably. You only started dating two months ago, and you knew he was considerably rich, but this is the first seriously extravagant display of his wealth you're experiencing. It's making you queasy.
You grew up knowing that on the rare times your family was at a restaurant, you weren't allowed to order a drink aside from water and that your meal would come from the appetizer section of the menu. “We have that at home” or “I can make that myself” were mantras of your mother's. The trash bag full of your older cousin's hand-me-downs was your version of the mall. Your friends all balked at the idea that you didn't have an allowance, a fact that kept you excluded from several social events as a teenager.
But you do incredibly well for yourself now. You graduated from school debt-free thanks to your scholarships and part-time jobs. And after a decade of experience, you're finally at a company that pays you well enough to have paid off your parents’ mortgage, bought yourself a new car, and most importantly, keeps all your savings accounts stuffed full. You considered yourself very well off.
Until you met Kim Mingyu.
There was no way of knowing the stranger hitting on you in the ridiculously long line of the cafe by work came from old money. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt on a Tuesday morning for god's sake. In fact, when you agreed to a date with him, your dumb ass had the audacity to worry if he was jobless, maybe perusing the business district for a wealthy girlfriend to mooch off of.
You laugh humorlessly at the idea now. It's painfully clear who's mooching off of who in this relationship, and you've just barely come to that conclusion now. On your birthday. In the middle of the ocean.
“Hey, pretty.”
You crane your neck up to see Mingyu approaching your lounge chair, his hands in two fists around the towel draped over his shoulders—the towel that seemingly did nothing since he still has drops of water running down his golden brown skin, squeezing in between every line, curve, and corner.
He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips, drops of water falling onto you as he does but you don’t mind. You can tell from the peck that it's meant to be a quick greeting, but he pauses just after his lips meet yours, and he lingers a little longer and kisses a little slower. His mouth opens against yours—tongue slides against yours—and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, still cold from the water. It feels like he's kissing you after having missed you for weeks.
“Hello to you too,” you mutter, a little dazed when he finally pulls away and grins boyishly. “How was your swim?”
“Oh, riveting,” he says dryly. “I love being abandoned by my girlfriend in the middle of the ocean.”
“Well, that's dramatic,” you scoff as he takes a seat on the lounge chair next to you. He situates himself on the edge so that he's still as close to you as possible, and he grabs your hand before leaning his elbows on his knees. “You seemed to be having a lot of fun.”
You actually wouldn't know. You were kind of dissociating as you watched him swim around. It was hard to be surrounded by this kind of extravagance and not feel lost.
“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully, maintaining intimidatingly stable eye contact as he studies you. “Are you okay? You seem a little… I don't know. Tired, maybe? Bored?”
You shake your head quickly, a little panicked that Mingyu has the idea he spent all this money on you just for you to be bored. “No! No, that's not it. I am definitely not bored, baby. I'm having fun!”
He stares at you blankly like he knows that's not true. It's been such a short amount of time dating, but his read on you is hardly ever wrong. Mingyu doesn't say anything, obviously waiting for you to explain what it is as opposed to what it isn't.
You sigh. “I'm just… this is… a lot,” you admit. His eyebrows twitch into the tiniest of frowns and you rush to continue to avoid a miscommunication. “I love it! And I'm having fun! I'm just surprised is all. Like, I obviously knew you had money, but… I didn't know you had yacht money. Or Bulgari necklace money. Tiny welcome chocolates with 14K gold flakes money.”
He snorts, shaking his head at that. “Okay. I do have money for all that, yes. Does that… make you uncomfortable…?” he asks.
To his credit, he passes as levelheaded, but you've gotten good at reading him yourself, and you see the way his eyes narrow a little like he's struggling to understand something. The way his lips turn down in the corners and his tongue pokes at his cheek anxiously.
“I'm just not used to someone spending like this on me,” you say instead of directly answering the question. You don't know what you are. “I could work until I'm 100 years old and never be able to afford to buy you these kinds of gifts. I—”
“I don't expect these kinds of gifts. I don't expect any gifts.”
“Sure, but—”
“Baby,” he starts, suddenly standing.
He forces you to scooch over on your own chaise so that he can lay next to you, and you oblige even though there's really nowhere for you to go. The two of you barely fit, but after he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tight to his chest, you're comfortable knowing you won't fall off the edge.
“I did this because I want you to feel special on your birthday, okay?” he assures you, the worry on his face dissipating immediately when he realizes what the issue is. “I never expect anything back when I spend money on you.” He pauses to think before adding: “Except maybe a kiss or two.”
You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile that grows on your face.
“I don't need gifts. I can buy myself anything I want. The only thing in the world that I want—actually, desperately need—that I can't buy is you and your time and your attention and your l—” He stops to clear his throat, and your heart skips a beat. Neither of you have said I love you, and you want to believe love was the word he wanted to say next. Because it's true. He has your love. You just haven't found the courage to say it. “You being around is more than enough, okay? Besides, I plan to have you around for a long time. You should probably get used to spending my money haphazardly.”
“Mingyu!” you slap his abs, resting your hand there and smiling at the way his muscles feel under you.
“What?” he laughs, shrugging. “I'm serious. Let's not dwell on what we can and can't give each other. What's mine is yours.” He rubs your arm comfortingly and plants a kiss against the crown of your head. “This is all I want. I don't need anything else.”
You lift your head off Mingyu's chest and look him in the eye. He raises his eyebrows a little at the abrupt movement, but it's still plain to see he looks happy, calm, relaxed. Everything a man in love would look like, and you see that he's being sincere with you.
“I'm sorry,” you sigh, making him frown. “I just let my insecurities get the best of me. I'm so grateful for all this, I really am. But I hope you know that I don't need any of this either. I agreed to go out with you fully thinking you were an unemployed loser looking for a sugar mama.” Mingyu huffs out a laugh of disbelief. “Your money is the least interesting thing about you.”
“Wow, an unemployed loser, huh?” he repeats, still laughing. “Was it the flip flops?”
“I mean… yeah?”
He barks out his laughter then and it's contagious, making you grin. When it subsides into a happy sigh, you decide it's a sound you'd like to hear forever. You want to stop wasting time.
“Mingyu, I love you,” you say quietly.
His smile falls right off his face and his eyes widen. You'd be worried if his arms didn't press you even tighter to his still wet body. After several moments of silence, you're about to reassure him he doesn't have to say anything back, but before you can, his hands are circling around your arms and yanking you up the chaise to meet his lips.
Mingyu kisses you more voraciously than he ever has, lips and tongue moving desperately like he wants to swallow the three words himself. It sends a dull ache straight to your core, and you fight the urge to grind your bikini clad cunt right against his thigh. His large hand comes up to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing it while his fingers sink into your hair. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to them desperately like you might disintegrate if you don't.
“Mingyu,” you sigh as he breaks away and starts trailing kisses down your neck. “Mingyu, I—”
“I love you,” he says, his voice hazy with desire.
He repeats it over and over again with each press of his lips against your skin. You put enough space between the two of you to stop his flurry of kisses. You look down at him, and you're knocked breathless at the reverence he watches you with. You have absolutely no doubt in the world that Kim Mingyu loves you.
You smile and surge forward to kiss him once, twice, three times before giggling like a kid. “I love you,” you say again.
He laughs too, his hands coming to your back and rubbing up and down slowly. It's how you realize you're practically on top of him now, the only part of you still on the chaise being one leg.
Your smile slowly slips off your face and you crawl up his body until you're straddling him on the lounge chair. You both have been patient with one another, not pushing sex before the other was ready, but it feels like a day for firsts. Mingyu must think the same because he sits up, arms wrapping around your middle as he tilts his chin to look up at you with big, shiny eyes.
You keep a hand on his shoulder, bring your other to his face, and without breaking eye contact, you wordlessly roll your hips into his. His next breath is a sharp inhale through his nose as you watch his pupils dilate. You feel your lips curve up into a smile as he begins to harden underneath you, straining against his wet shorts in mere moments.
“Um, I—are…” he blinks several times as you continue to grind against him, and when he clearly can’t find the words he’s looking for, his hands clamp down on your waist to stop your movement. “Are you—”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Were you going to ask if I wanted to finally have sex?”
He snorts. “No.” You look at him flatly. “Okay, yes.”
“Still yes then.”
He reaches up to brush your hair away from your face, and he pulls you down by the nape of your neck to kiss you. You're a mess of lips, saliva, and hands—feeling everywhere you can touch while simultaneously keeping away from the one place you need each other. You break away in a gasp when he slips his hand under the back of your bikini and squeezes your ass hard.
You tilt your head back as he kisses down the middle of your throat, and to your horror, you find an employee coming up the stairs of the sun deck with a platter of champagne.
“Oh shit!” you shriek as you scramble off Mingyu’s lap, settling for awkwardly sitting between his calves at the foot of the chaise.
He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you’ve run out of time to warn him. He must hear the footsteps as the yacht staff member approaches, though, because he quickly crosses his legs and very conspicuously cups his hands over his crotch. If the staff member notices, they’re well-trained to ignore it.
“The champagne you requested from the swim deck, Mr. Kim,” the young man announces, lowering the platter so that you both can easily take your own flutes. Neither of you waste a moment grabbing one.
When the employee doesn’t depart, you realize he’s waiting for you both to take a sip and make sure it’s to your liking. You go to toast Mingyu quickly, but he stops you.
“Wait, wait,” he says, hand on your wrist from where he’s keeping you from toasting him and getting rid of the staff. “Happy birthday. I hope it’s the most amazing one yet, and I can’t wait to spend so many more with you.” He’s almost shy when he smiles and finishes with: “I love you.”
“Oh, Mingyu,” you pout before smiling widely and leaning forward to kiss him, almost completely forgetting about your bystander. “I love you too. Thank you for everything. Cheers.”
You clink glasses, and you sigh in relief when the employee takes that as his moment to exit. He sets the ice bucket and bottle of champagne down on the table nearest to your chaise before he smiles brightly at you both.
“Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“No!” Mingyu says too loudly and too quickly. You choke on your first sip of champagne. “I mean,” he lowers his voice considerably, “no, Chad. Just… we’re good. Please let the staff know to leave us alone for the rest of the night. Thanks.”
“Of course,” he responds without missing a beat, smiling brightly before making his exit. You watch him disappear down the stairs as you rub your chest, your coughs finally subsiding.
“Have you fucked girls on your yacht before?”
It’s Mingyu’s turn to take his champagne down the wrong tube. “What?”
“Why does ‘leave me alone for the rest of the night’ seem like normal protocol?” you ask, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you watch him struggle with the question.
“I have not fucked girls on my yacht before,” he denies it petulantly. He clears his throat. “But a ton of people do all kinds of questionable things on boats.” You make a mental note to ask him for stories later. “Yacht staff are all trained to be… discreet. So.”
“So Chad knows we’re fucking tonight.”
Mingyu smirks into his glass, taking several gulps until it’s completely empty. You raise your eyebrows at him. “If he doesn’t, he definitely will in a few minutes.” Your cheeks warm at the implication and he nods at your flute. “Hurry up and finish that. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
You gasp, tears slipping out of your eyes and past your blindfold as you struggle against the ropes Mingyu tied around your wrists. They’re tied to the headboard of the bed in his stateroom, rendering you absolutely helpless as his tongue massages your clit, his hand already two fingers deep inside you and beckoning an orgasm closer.
“Mingyu,” you whimper, struggling to keep your legs open even though there’s nowhere they could possibly go anyway. Your boyfriend’s grasp on each thigh is pressing them down and open mercilessly, determined to keep you from interrupting his meal.
“What is it, baby?” he asks, licking quick stripes up your slit between every few words. “Too much for you? We can stop.”
“No!” you shout quickly, whining when you hear his breathy laughter follow. “It’s not funny. I’m… I…” Your words devolve into a mess of moans as he decides he’d rather eat than talk. His fingers work against the spongy spot inside you, his mouth closing over your clit as he starts to lick and suck with more fervor than before. “Oh god. Please!”
“Please what?” he asks against you, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through your cunt.
You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For the last half hour now, Mingyu has been pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with just his mouth alone. There’s nothing else you could possibly ask for, but still, all you know how to say is “please.”
You gasp, hips bucking as your orgasm shoots through your entire body, causing you to shudder and writhe almost uncontrollably at the overstimulation. You don’t have much space to move, though, with your hands restricted like this.
“Gyu!” you shriek, shamelessly grinding up and into his mouth. His fingers pump in and out of you quickly, your pussy giving no resistance anymore now that he’s made a mess out of you. “Oh my god.”
“I think you’re ready,” he says, smiling against you.
More tears escape as you cry in what you think is relief. He told you there would be a lot of foreplay. He warned you that he was big and that he didn’t want to hurt you—that the only way he felt comfortable doing this was once you were thoroughly prepared. You just didn’t realize it meant having his head between your legs for so long, you’d lost feeling in both feet and gone cross-eyed with pleasure.
Before he leaves his residency, he lowers his chin and stiffens his tongue, shoving it into you as far as it’ll go, his entire face pressed against you. The sensation elongates the orgasm enough that you’re sure it’s started a whole new one as Mingyu licks you clean from the inside out. When he’s done, he kisses your clit before moving around on the bed.
“Hi,” he whispers, voice suddenly right next to your ear. You struggle to catch your breath as his hands run up your sides.
“Hi,” you respond pathetically.
“Don’t cry, darling,” he tells you, voice soft and gravely. You wish you could see how he looked right now. You wish you could know if he looked just as fucked up and fucked out as you felt. If his face matched his voice. “I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I?”
“Too good,” you breathe, not sure you can say more than two words at a time.
He snickers as his fingers slip under your bikini top, the last piece of clothing you have on before he has you completely naked. He massages your breast under the fabric, thumb running over your nipple several times. He presses his lips against your sternum, his weight resting against you as he does, and you realize he’s catching his breath too. You can feel his heartbeat against your stomach, going almost as fast as you think yours is. He continues kneading your tit like it’s his own personal stress ball for several minutes, leaving kisses across your skin absentmindedly.
“I think you were made for me,” he mutters after a while.
“I hope you were made for me,” you respond when you think you’ve finally relaxed enough to have coherent thoughts again. “Because what do you mean you own a yacht and want to eat pussy for the better part of an hour? You’re literally my dream man.”
His hand pauses against you as he laughs into your chest, shaking the bed as he does. You smile at the sound.
“Mingyu?”
“Mmm.”
“Can you remove my blindfold?” you ask quietly. “I want to see your face.”
He removes his hand from your chest, placing the bikini back where it was as if you aren’t already entirely naked from the waist down. He moves up the bed and his fingers work at the knot he made behind your head, undoing it quickly. You blink a few times as you adjust to the already dimmed light of the room.
“Hi.”
He looks so blissful. His eyes are half-lidded like he just woke up, and his mouth is curved up into the slightest, laziest, most content smile. He looks down at you like he truly believes his own words—like he truly believes you were made for him.
Your wrists don’t let you far enough up to kiss him, but he knows exactly what you want and he gives it to you. You taste yourself on him, and the thought that Mingyu loves it enough to go at it for so long makes you impossibly wetter.
“Are you ready?” he asks when he pulls away to kick off his shorts and shove them somewhere toward the foot of the bed. You look down at what you’re dealing with, and you realize Mingyu definitely knew best when he said you needed to be patient. You nod.
“Mhm.”
“I’m going to untie you, okay?” he asks gently even though he roughly shoves your top up your chest, your tits bouncing out. He groans, burying his face between them before taking a nipple in his mouth.
You arch into his body, exhaling softly at the warm feeling. He releases you with a pop and quickly rips the top completely off, throwing it over his shoulder before caging you in with his legs and crawling up the bed to work on the ropes on your wrist. His dick rests against your stomach as he works, thick and heavy and staring you in the face. Your mouth waters.
“Hurry, Gyu,” you whisper. He laughs softly.
“Impatient.”
You bite back a retort because at that moment, the ropes give way and your wrists are freed. Without thinking twice, you have both hands wrapped around Mingyu’s dick immediately, eliciting a gasp from him. You shimmy down on the bed, one hand pulling at his waist.
“What are you doing?” he asks as he tries to keep his balance at your incessant pulling.
“I think it’s your turn” is all you say, releasing him once you’re low enough on the bed. His huge fucking cock hangs in front of you—intimidating and scary and glorious. You lean back and prop yourself on your elbows before looking up at him.
He peers down at you with a confused look on his face. All you do in response is open your mouth wide. His eyes practically bulge out of his head when he realizes what you want him to do.
“Are you sure?!” he asks in disbelief. “I’m—I—you—”
“Fuck my mouth, Mingyu.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, taking himself in his hold and pumping a few times before gently laying his swollen tip on your tongue. He curses under his breath.
“Let me know if it becomes too much, okay?” he reminds you. You don’t bother responding as you take more of his length in. “Holy shit. Fuck!”
It doesn’t take more than three thrusts until tears are collecting in the corner of your eyes, but you don’t care. Because you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter than Mingyu on top of you, fucking your mouth with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s begging a god out there to keep him from coming on the spot. You bring one hand up to his balls, massaging gently and the sounds it pulls out of him are downright heavenly.
“Baby,” he gasps. “Oh my god.”
You’re a mess of precum, drool, and tears, but you remind yourself to enjoy the burn in your shoulders from propping yourself up like this, the ache of Mingyu’s cock abusing the back of your throat, and the sting where his hand has become a fist in your hair because it could last your entire life and you think it would still be over too soon—being able to see how good you can make him feel.
His thrusts slow to a gradual stop and he takes his cock out of your mouth, sitting back on the heel of his feet as he catches his breath, staring at you like you invented blowjobs just for him. You smile at him as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before plopping back down on the bed, your shoulders screaming in relief.
He situates himself back between your legs, and without breaking eye contact, he lifts one up and over his shoulder. He kisses your calf, then your knee, and then he pushes forward until your thigh is pressed up against your shoulder and you feel his tip at your hole.
Wordlessly, he pushes in gently, and even with all the orgasms you had, you gasp at the way he stretches you open. He groans, head hanging as he watches himself slowly, slowly, slowly disappear inside you. He breathes evenly and deliberately like his control relies solely on him staying as calm as possible. You don’t quite have the same composure, fists tight around his bedsheets as you whine and whimper underneath him.
“Shhh,” he breathes, another kiss ghosting the inside of your knee. “You’re doing so well, baby.” You moan at the praise. “Doing so fucking well for me.”
“Gyu,” you gasp when you feel him bottom out. If his hands weren’t planted firmly on either side of your head, you’re sure he would’ve completely collapsed on you as he exhales a heavy breath, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto your stomach.
“Are you okay?” he asks when you know he’s sure he won’t come immediately. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay, baby.”
“Good,” he breathes, nodding as he leans forward and pecks your lips. “I love you.”
You smile. “I love you.”
“I’m going to move now, okay?”
You fight to keep from giggling at how endearing he is, even during sex. “Okay.”
His first few thrusts are so shallow, you’re not sure he’s even pulling out at all. The only reason you know he is is that each thrust back in makes the delicious ache in your stomach grow. It isn’t until you slip your leg off Mingyu’s shoulder and lock your ankles together behind him and pull him in closer that he starts to really pick up his pace, increasingly intense until he’s slamming into you with a frenetic energy you feel like you can choke on.
Being fucked by Mingyu is unlike being fucked by anyone else. It’s in the way he watches you closely, searching for any signs you’re no longer enjoying or in pain. The way he keeps whispering how much he loves you—like saying it for the first time tonight broke a dam wide open and he can no longer keep the three words in. The way he blushes each time you reach up to pull him down and kiss him. The way his body starts to thrash and tremble the closer he gets to his orgasm. It’s the way he fills you up with his cum so thoroughly and completely, you know there’s no way you can ever be anybody else’s but his. It’s in the way he holds you for so long after, you fall asleep in his arms and only wake up when he’s carrying you into the restroom to help you clean up.
At the end of the night, Mingyu wraps you up in his blankets and himself as the yacht docks at the marina, zero desire to leave even though you’re back at land.
where mingyu has a pornstar cock, but the only action he’s getting is with his own hand.
★ pairing: f!reader x mingyu
★ words: 7.5k
★ warnings: comedy, smau bits, homoerotic friendships bc i am free, smut with sexting, big puppy gyu, handjob, both oral, multiple orgasms, protected sex, 18+ mdni
★ notes: it’s finally here and it’s filthy and i did not read it twice!!! going to an ateez concert now brb
GOD HAS FAVOURITES, AND MINGYU’S ONE OF THEM.
in this day and age of hook-up culture, of getting lucky with nothing but a few swipes on your phone, it’s far too easy to just deceive your way into scoring some.
men are liars, and they all claim the same thing these days: they’re a munch, they can go until the sunrise, you’ll feel it in your kidney, they’re a feminist, etc… of course, it’s not until those men slide in dry after rubbing straight flap then cumming in three strokes before those poor women realise: a man will claim anything under the sun if it means you’ll fuck him.
although mingyu can relate to the desperation to get laid, he’s not so shameless that he’d just bullshit his way into someone’s pants. at that point you don’t even deserve it. he’ll stick by his true character even if he’s on the brink of insanity from lack of action. in saying that, what makes mingyu superior to thy neighbour is not just the fact that he only ever speaks the truth — but also in regards to the absurd cock size he’s been blessed with.
through google searches of the average length not just in his country but the whole globe, triple takes from other men in public bathhouses, dick pics sent to talking stages and unsolicited dick pics sent to him — mingyu’s come to the conclusion that he’s bigger than average. to put it humbly, really.
at soft, he can make a few head turns at the least. at half-hard he’s got the size that most men lie about having. and when he’s fully erect, he should probably register his cock as a weapon.
mingyu’s been told that his body’s sculpted like a greek god, complete with zeus’ lightning rod in his pants. he’s got the cock that the top gets in yaoi with ridiculously drawn proportions, the cock that gets spray-painted as graffiti on a cheating ex’s car. mingyu’s big to the point where it’s like okay, can we be serious, like this is doing too much.
he’s been told by men and women alike that he could make a living off of his size. ah, what a dream that’d be. taking dick pics (maybe some feet in there too) to pay the bills. having fame and money and pussy for doing nothing but exist with a completely natural, albeit monstrously sized cock.
he can forget about that ever happening though. it sounds like a dream because it is. nevermind being god’s favourite — mingyu’s starting to believe he must’ve signed a contract with the devil in his past life, because what good is a big dick if you’ve only got yourself to fuck?
it’s a bad joke, really. all these inches and a pretty face but nowhere to use it. he’s only gotten laid enough times to count on one hand without lifting a thumb, and all instances had punctuated years worth of drought.
size doesn’t matter, and he knows that firsthand. when he lost his virginity, he came the instant he slid into his girlfriend, who just said “that’s it?” then broke up with him. he’s had next to no luck landing any girls since that pitiful first, let alone getting one to stay.
he knows he’s not exactly fucking like a pornstar, but his same absurd size is actually what’s holding him back. there’s been times when his cock getting hard for a girl has him on verge of fainting, just from all the fucking blood the monster in his pants needs to get up. then after some mediocre stroke game, the force of orgasming has him seeing literal glimpses of heaven.
despite the physical toll, in some pitiful moments of doubt he even began to question if he’s been lied to his entire life about his size — if it’s not earning him a text back because it’s actually pretty average. that is, until his best friend literally readjusted his glasses in shock the first time he saw mingyu naked.
mingyu might be getting less action than an actual virgin. he’s since long forgotten how a pussy feels since becoming besties with his imagination and left hand — and it’s gotten to the point that the feel of his same old, boring palm can barely spark any pleasure. he may as well be rubbing off his ankle.
the porn on page 1 to page 847 has no difference in how utterly useless it is when he needs help getting off. switching to his non-dominant hand, humping the mattress, buying a pocket pussy, watching fetish content on places he wouldn’t even go with a gun — all of it, useless. futile.
he needs the real thing, warm and tight and living. he needs to get laid before he does something drastic and his face is plastered on every news channel … okay maybe not that far but he fears it really is that serious. all these extra inches means he’s got an extra intense libido to match, and nothing but extra extra bad luck when it comes to finding means of relieving it.
one sunny day he rants about all of this to his roommate and best friend wonwoo, who nods over a steaming bowl of shin ramyun.
“i see.” wonwoo hums. “you’re not asking to fuck me, are you?”
“bro. fuck off.” mingyu groans, dropping his head to the table with a thunk. “you know what? yeah, i might if i don’t get laid soon.”
“well, i’m not a bottom, so unless you want to take it up the ass.” wonwoo shrugs, slurping down a mouthful of noodles without even chewing. (seriously, why does he do that?)
“don’t you have single friends? discord kittens? can’t you hook up a brother in desperate need? i’m losing vision in one eye with how pussy-deprived i am.”
wonwoo readjusts his glasses. “i do know some girls but.. you’d be okay with having my sloppy seconds?”
“forget i even asked man.” mingyu rolls his eyes, kicking his chair out from the table with a loud scrape on the floorboards. “i’m having a shower. need to jerk off before i hit something. or you.”
after a pitiful, rage-induced wank sesh under the hot stream of water (also a few stray tears shed), mingyu was pulling his boxers on when the door swung open.
“are you still on any dating sites?” wonwoo asked casually, ignoring how half of his best friend’s ass was still hanging out as he barged in.
“no, i deleted my tinder after that one girl who set my nudes as her profile picture.”
“okay cool. try this one out.” wonwoo handed his phone over, open on the browser.
www.dtf.com
mingyu scrunched his face. “down to fuck dot com?”
ah, so a matchmaking site that doesn’t pretend to be about any ‘finding your soulmate’ bullshit and is unapologetically straight to the point: we’re all single and here to fuck.
“can’t imagine you look for anything serious on here.” he snickers.
“well no, it’s in the name. are you?”
mingyu scratched his neck. truthfully, a girlfriend would be ideal but… beggars can’t be choosers.
he shrugged. “whatever happens.”
inspecting the rest of the site, he clicked to view wonwoo’s profile — then whistled at the suggestive set of photos displayed on his best friend’s page.
Wonwoo
A giver, most of the time.
AGE: 25
HEIGHT: 6 ft
SIZE: 8 in.
LOOKING FOR: Female, Submissive
INTERESTED IN: BDSM, Brat Taming, Humiliation, Degradation, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Impact Play, Daddy Kink, Sir Kink, Pet Play, Toys, Anal… [Show More]
“you like being called ‘daddy’?” mingyu snickered.
“yeah bro. e-girls flock to me like birds, that’s how i get so many over.” wonwoo replies with a smart-ass smirk. “they grip your dick like you’re gonna leave them.”
“….that’s just not what i asked, man.”
safe to say, mingyu was sold. he promptly had his own account set up, then took close to an hour meticulously choosing the thirst trap images for his profile.
Mingyu
Hey (with the intention of begging on my knees)
AGE: 24
HEIGHT: 6’2
SIZE: 12 in.
LOOKING FOR: Female
INTERESTED IN: Vanilla, Missionary
when mingyu showed wonwoo the final product with a satisfied smile, his best friend burst out laughing.
“are these the default options or something?” wonwoo asked, pointing to mingyu’s barren interests section.
“bro, i’m just looking to get laid. doesn’t need to be any more complex than that.” mingyu pouted. “unlike you, i don’t need a girl to wear a cat tail butt plug and meow for me to get off.”
“that sounds hot.”
it does. “freak ass..”
after leaving his best friend with the middle finger and then setting his profile to public for matchmaking, within mere minutes women were indeed flocking to him, much like birds.
mingyu spent all night marvelling at his phone like a kid in a candy store — giggling as he sifted through profiles, kicking his feet as he chatted with women basically throwing themselves at him.
despite wonwoo making fun of him, it seemed that his only interests being ‘vanilla’ had actually worked in his favour, since he had countless women from all different shades of kinks asking if he was open-minded. the one thing they all had in common though, from the bratty subs to the dominatrixes, was one burning question: is it really that big?
and oh, he’s been more than happy to prove it; snapping a quick, shaky photo of the visible bulge in his calvin kleins and watching as all the phone numbers and addresses and nudes roll in like waves.
he hasn’t taken anyone up on their offers to meet up, not just yet. call him an attention whore, but he’s had years worth of yearning for this, dreaming about this, even crying in the shower after jerking off over this. these days it’s hard enough trying to reach an orgasm even with every tool in his arsenal — and yet he’s been laying here, chatting away with a lifetime’s supply worth of women, while being so turned on he’s basically blue-ballsing himself.
ah, he could get used to this. this could even prove to be a little too dangerous. maybe he really was destined to be a pornstar, and him having no luck climbing out of bitchless purgatory was just the universe’s way of restoring natural balance. no one man should have all this power.
the attention goes straight to his head, leaves him feeling high off of it. leaves him on cloud nine with a painfully hard cock.
ding.
leaves him with a harsh comedown that hits like a kick in the balls.
when he clicks to open the uncalled-for dm, mingyu can feel his boner go a quarter of the way back down just from the shock. what the hell does that mean? do you think he’s a bot, clickbaiting? but he put so much effort and care into choosing the right photos for his profile…
….is it really so unbelievable that he’s only looking for vanilla sex?
oh. okay. so everyone he’s chatted with so far may as well have been shy, considering how forward you are straight off the bat. not even a hello, how are you, my name is… just “i call bullshit, show me that dick.”
alright then. he can play ball.
mingyu tugs his boxers down his thighs, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach, even at only somewhat hard. he’ll need to get it all the way back it up if he’s going to prove it to you.
he has a full-body shiver when his hand grazes the tip, just from how on edge he’s been; smearing precum across his palm before his fingers curl around in a loose grip.
he’ll need something to jerk off to, and well, since your profile is there….
shit. it’s more than enough. you’re like, really fucking pretty. hot, gorgeous, panty-dropping and cock-raising. so pretty he actually feels a little guilty as his hand starts to stroke his cock, but hey, you’ll get him fully hard in no time.
mingyu swipes through the array of photos on your page, each one more revealing than the last, fist steadily pumping his length. it jumps between his fingers when he settles on a photo of you in white lingerie: the lace hugging your curves perfectly, plush lip bitten between your teeth, hands cupping the underside of your breasts and lifting them on full display.
it’s not until a fresh spurt of precum leaks over his knuckles that mingyu remembers he’s supposed to be taking a picture of his boner as proof, and not just… jerking off for the sake of it.
he has to literally rip his hand away, lower belly already coiled dangerously tight. he can’t remember the last time a girl in real life got him this hard and this fast.
shuffling closer to the mirror, he sits on the edge of the bed and holds his cock upright with one hand, the other holding his phone right next to it — as comparison, of course.
he holds his breath as he sends it through.
well, his stomach sank for a moment there, but he quickly recovers. mingyu lays back on the bed, running his palm up and over his length, just absentmindedly playing with himself as his jelly fingers type out a reply.
he’s quick to navigate back to your profile, cock reacting with a pulse as his eyes land on your face again like it missed you already.
he doesn’t even think about it this time: just gets completely lost in the sight before him, in the feel of his fist fucking him. until a ding cuts through the tunnel vision, your chat notification lighting up the top of his screen. the only thing that could tear his attention away from the softcore porn on your profile.
damn. guilty.
he feels his cheeks heating up a little. the fuck? you’ve got his grown ass blushing through the phone. either you’re a seasoned pro at turning men to putty, or mingyu’s just that out of the element.
his mind’s turning to complete mush at this point; tuned in solely to your pretty face and body, to your vulgar mouth. imagination drifting to the feel of your skin under the pads of his fingers, of your lips stretched over the head of his—
shit, he almost came.
mingyu nearly drops his phone as he fumbles to the camera app, shakily filming himself in the mirror as his hand goes to fucking town on his cock. his mouth’s even fouler than yours with all the whiney huffs and puffs pouring from his throat.
he’s not sure if the footage is long enough or even good enough but he also doesn’t care; sending it straight through to you while not missing a beat in jerking himself off.
he throws his head back on the bed with a tortured groan, back arching off the bed as his hips chase the circle of his fist with a mind of their own. he can’t recall the last time masturbating felt this fucking good, the last time it took such a short span of time for him to reach an orgasm.
the last time he was able to forget that the hand around his cock is his own — nothing but your face, that body, those curves behind his lids when he screws his eyes shut.
and just the mere thought that you could be touching yourself too? to the videos of mingyu touching himself, oh fuck…
mingyu winces as his grip tightens until it hurts, fist strangling the fucking life out of his cock. he squeezes until he literally feels the tidal wave of his orgasm receding, the hot pressure under his abs fading into sharp, demanding pulses of his cock.
why did he even say that shit? man, talk about being pussy drunk. he can just manage to feel the weight of shame pressing into his chest over the ache throbbing between his thighs.
if he really did fumble a chance as good as this, a girl as hot as you, he doesn’t even deserve to cum. maybe he should just start embracing the involuntarily celibate life..
to his surprise, another ding from you interrupts his pitiful — while still fully erect — wallowing.
much like a well-trained dog, you don’t have to tell him twice.
mingyu puts on a whole ass show for you. sits upright in bed, films his entire upper body to ensure no twitch or contraction of his sweat-slick abs was left out of frame.
he’s sure the speed of his hand gives away just how long he’s gone without getting laid, but mingyu can’t find it in himself to feel much shame at all now that you’ve offered a chance to remedy that up on a silver platter.
he cums obnoxiously: throwing his head back, adam’s apple bobbing with each shameless moan falling from his mouth; grinding his hips up into his ruthless fist like he’s fucking into someone; a hefty load spurting all over his pretty toned torso, your name slipping from his lips.
before the post-nut clarity can settle in, he sends the raw footage straight through to his patiently waiting audience.
mingyu was so ecstatic that he didn’t even bother to clean up properly, just quickly wiped himself with a tissue before skipping into wonwoo’s room and dapping his best friend up in celebration.
(his reaction being “bro you smell like cum.”)
after leaving dtf.com behind in a matter of hours and moving over to messages, a date was promptly established. being, a date as in the day, because there wasn’t going to be any conversing over dinner or fondling during a movie.
it’s becoming increasingly clear to mingyu that he really struck a pot of gold in you, since you were both on the same page about this: fuck first, talk later.
if you were to go on a date prior, mingyu knows good and damn well that he’d just be sporting a massive pitch in his pants throughout the entire thing; way too excited for his own good over the knowledge that he’s finally getting laid after.
the stars aligned to both of your schedules being open just two days from now. while the anticipation is sure to strangle him alive, he’s able to give wonwoo notice that he’s kicking him out for the day, and to prepare.
in the limited sexual encounters under his belt, mingyu can’t say for certain that he’s actually made a girl cum. unlike men, there isn’t exactly a visual indicator. his size alone could’ve been enough to get them off, sure. but when it comes to you, he doesn’t want to repeat that flustered fumbling; rubbing what he assumes is the clit based off of what he also assumes is genuine moans. his mouth hasn’t even graced a pussy before, isn’t that crazy?
those girls didn’t want anything other than to feel his cock in them, though — letting him touch for a few seconds before insisting that was enough foreplay. hence why he’s never learned.
you, however, like to play with your food. over texts you’ve been teasing the hell out of him, intent on finding out the limits of his desperation — and pleased to find there is none. he will genuinely do anything just to get a sliver of that pussy, and you only want him more because of it.
mingyu knows your expectations aren’t exactly high, but he doesn’t want to risk disappointing you so badly that you won’t sleep with him again. and if he can exceed your expectations, maybe you’d be open to being something more exclusive….
he’s a romantic at heart, okay?
of course, he had to seek out his most trusted elders for advice.
two torturously long days later, mingyu receives your “on the way” text and is pushing wonwoo out the door within the next second.
“don’t be back until tonight, just in case.”
“eh, you won’t last that long.” wonwoo shrugged. mingyu rolls his eyes, and wonwoo just slaps him on the back, pulling him into one of those side-hugs men do. “condoms are in my bedside table.”
with that, wonwoo takes his leave; off to a girl’s place, no doubt. mingyu doesn’t really care to know. his mind’s pretty occupied with a girl of his own.
mingyu rushes into his best friend’s bedroom, kicking his bulky ass gamer chair out of the way and pulling out the top drawer of his bedside table. mingyu physically recoils at the pile of dildos and vibrators he finds instead, which wonwoo so graciously neglected to mention. slamming that one shut, he finds what he’s looking for in the second drawer. condoms.
….why are there so many? textured, warming, cooling, flavoured; how is he supposed to know which one you’d prefer?
after tossing the options over in his head (frantically panicking), mingyu settles on the box of strawberry flavoured condoms, grabbing out more than enough and stuffing them in his pocket.
he then stops by wonwoo’s mirror, giving himself a once over. he went commando for obvious reasons, and his grey sweats already have a visible tent from how he’s half-hard just thinking about you. he already shaved everything in the shower, but he turns his head this way and that to make sure he didn’t miss any spots. pulls his pants down to check the same for his crotch. he smells his breath, his armpits. decides to spritz on more cologne and chew on some gum.
then the doorbell rings.
like some dog waiting for its owner, mingyu bounds over and hastily unlocks the door.
there you are, in all your beauty — smiling sweetly in a little sundress (they always make men go crazy, for whatever reason).
mingyu stammers like an idiot as he attempts to greet you, blocking the doorway as his eyes flick up and down and all around your body, damn nearly drooling until you clear your throat.
“hey mingyu.” you coo, saccharine voice like honey and melting over his thoughts. “it’s nice to finally meet.”
“yes, yes, of course.” he bumbles, finally stepping out of the way and letting you walk inside. he locks the door, gulping as he watches you inspect the place. how is he supposed to begin this? “did you, uh.. want any water or—”
that sentence is lost on the tip of his tongue when your lips smother it. you catch mingyu completely off guard when you step into a kiss with him, leaving no room for questions when your tongue slips into his mouth. you back him into the closest surface, being his kitchen counter, without breaking your mouth from his.
mingyu’s quite good at kissing, since he’s got a lot of experience with that alone, but then not much for the after.
mingyu knows how to lick his tongue against yours and tilt his head for deeper access. knows where to put his hands, how to hold just tight enough to leave your skin buzzing. he knows to pull you in and press your chest flush against his, and he’s mindful enough to keep his pelvis angled away from you. how cute and polite of him. it’s almost like you’re not here for the sole reason of getting in those pants.
despite his best attempts, you rock your hips forward to meet his crotch, delighting at the solid rock you find there. mingyu muffles a noise into your mouth that you’re determined to hear out loud later. you roll your body into his again, brushing your front right up and gauging the outline of his cock.
he’s already proven that he’s not lying about his size but man, fuck… feeling it in real life just brings the shock right back. to think, he’s somehow also desperate as if this thing couldn’t get him laid with ease?
it’s flattering, really — that he chose you amongst all the girls throwing themselves at him, when all you did was doubt and make fun of him.
mingyu finally succumbs to your ministrations and starts rocking his hips right back — tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he grinds his length forward, nothing but the fabric of his pants and your dress to offer him friction. he’s so worked up that honestly, it could be enough to get him off. he can already feel his dick leaking into his sweats like he’s some virgin experiencing his first kiss.
before he can actually just cum his pants, you part with him — a line of spit connecting your mouths that you wipe off. mingyu’s already huffing, waiting for your next move. you smirk, turning on your heel and walking further into the place.
“which one’s your room?” you call after him. he takes that as a hint to run up and show you to it.
mingyu can just barely hear your oohs and ahhs over the blood pumping like bass in his ears as he pushes his bedroom door open.
your fingers run along his shelves, eyes scanning his posters and the gym equipment scattered around the place. the picture of a dude’s room.
“where’s your roommate?” you ask, perching on his bed.
mingyu swallows, willing his voice to come, a little speechless just at the sight of you sitting where he sleeps. “wonwoo? uh, he’s out.”
you hum, nodding. “so we don’t have to worry about your volume, then.”
oh. you offer mingyu a grin and he just blanches. not yours, his volume. you’re not wrong though.. you’ll probably have him hooting and hollering from just thumbing his tip.
you clear your throat, commanding his attention.
“are you gonna fuck me from there or..?”
mingyu can feel his knees bending a little, on instinct from being flustered and wanting to shrink. you pat on the bed, just to gently guide him, and mingyu follows like a dog.
he chooses to sit beside you which makes you giggle. with a hand on the neck, thumb sitting above his thrumming pulse, you pull him in for a kiss. it’s startlingly tender, at least it begins so.
it’s not long at all until your impatience wins over and you’re licking into his mouth again, enticing little hums from mingyu’s throat. you swings your thighs over his as you climb into his lap, feeling his whole body tense as you sit right on the massive tent in his pants.
mingyu knows he’s fully hard, has been since you put your tongue in his mouth — but now you know it too. there’s a bit of an astonished look in your eye, as if finally confirming some theory. yes, it really is that big. boners give him headaches and he wouldn’t doubt that some of his back pain comes from lugging this big thing around all day.
even now, he can feel his head swimming from all the blood leaving to his lower half. you may leave him with a killer migraine from how hard he’s sure to cum, but it’ll be more than worth it. and you can always make it up to him, maybe….
you grind down on him a few times, the wet patch on his sweats growing even worse; mingyu throwing his head back and just letting you.
a rough hand gripping the scruff of his hair gets his eyes to fly open, staring at you with wide eyes like he’s in trouble. under his watch, you roll your hips deliberately slow, letting mingyu feel every ridge down there, all the wetness dripping from your—
shit, you’re not wearing underwear. you giggle at his recognition, and mingyu’s hands fly out to grip your thighs. to slow you down or get you to speed up, he doesn’t know. as long as you don’t stop.
you make a show with your hand: cupping a breast through your dress, trailing your fingers down your torso before they find the hem of your skirt. you snicker at mingyu’s eyes following every little move, then raise the dress to reveal your bare pussy rutting against his cock — nothing but the thin fabric of his sweats separating you, soiled sticky with your shared arousal.
mingyu whines at the sight, his cock pulsing under you in tandem. you even look a bit startled at how much of it moved, practically halfway in you at this point.
to his dismay you shift back, sitting on his thighs and leaving his poor crotch empty. he doesn’t get to pout for long though, since your hand leaves the dress to brush your knuckles against his length. mingyu shivers, a desperate noise leaving his mouth as your fingers dance over his cock. it throbs and jumps in response, and you giggle, continuing to just play with it. he can barely feel the warmth of your fingers through the fabric, and his hips cant upwards in chase of it.
“you’re real pretty like this, mingyu.” you murmur, fingers softly making a plucking motion over his tip and watching him try to thrust up into it.
as a big ass dude, he’s never heard himself be called ‘pretty’ before, even by his mother but… the way his body reacts to that speaks for itself.
he can’t even get out a ‘thanks’, nothing but embarrassing whines leaving his mouth, even over the faintest stimulation you’re offering him.
“you’ll need to work to fit inside.” you tell him, and he nods, even though he doesn’t even fully register what that means. “mingyu?”
“yeah?” he huffs out, glossy eyes finding yours. you swoon over how much he looks like a puppy, especially with his open-mouth panting, and the fact that he won’t move unless you tell him to.
softness swells inside you and your fingers splay through his hair, combing through it gently. a contrast to your blunt words: “eat me out.”
“oh,” he just says, mind lagging behind as the words sink in. “oh. yes, yeah. i can do that.”
you huff in amusement, pushing off his lap and positioning yourself at the edge of the bed. “i would hope so..”
mingyu follows your lead, sliding off the edge himself and sitting on the floor in front of you. you giggle at his commitment, spreading your legs and pulling the skirt up so your pussy is on full display for him.
saliva gathers in his mouth just looking at it, and he mentally runs through all of the advice jeonghan and joshua gave him.
leaning forward, mingyu starts out slow; leaving soft pecks on the skin of your thigh, listening to your breathing as he inches closer. he works up the courage to look up, holding your gaze as he gives a tentative lick.
you hum appreciatively, fingers finding his hair again, his lashes fluttering over how much he likes the feel of your hand there. mingyu dives in again, just licking for the sake of it — running his tongue through your folds and familiarising himself with your taste. he pulls a steady stream of hums from you, punctuated with a gasp when his tongue presses just right in a particular spot.
the clit, mingyu realises. he latches on so he doesn’t lose it — lips closing around the bud and sucking. your back arches, fingers twisting in mingyu’s hair and causing a groan to rumble on your pussy.
while mingyu kinda knows what to do, he also kinda doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, so he follows the noises above him as direction. he builds a rhythm, switching between quick flicks of his tongue and sucking your clit into his mouth. then, he gets curious: licking down to your hole, juices gushing onto his tongue as he buries it into you. you squeak, thighs clamping around his head, and mingyu uses both of his hands to pry them back open.
he fucks you on his tongue, trying his best to keep his eyes on you through how much they’re rolling back into his head. he thinks he’s got the hang of this now — and so he drags his mouth back to your clit, replacing his tongue with two fingers. mingyu pistons them in and out, curls them up, and goes light-headed at all the gorgeous noises he’s pulling from your mouth.
you’re tight, such a tight fit it might hurt him when he goes in — so he can only imagine how much it’ll hurt you.
on that thought, mingyu scissors his fingers, spreading you open and brushing against your g-spot as he does. his cock jumps in his sweats as you drag out a moan, fist close to ripping out his hair. mingyu adds a third finger, fucks you on them for a bit and listens to your moans in response before easing in a fourth. even all his fingers won’t compare to his entire size, but it’s all he has to prepare you enough.
for the first time maybe ever, mingyu’s certain that you’re close. your body’s practically vibrating: thighs tensing around his ears, pussy throbbing in his mouth and around his fingers.
mingyu locks in, keeping his hand and tongue steady to fuck and lick you through it — that is, until you just tear his face away.
he blinks, registering what just happened as you pull his hand out yourself. he blinks again, and suddenly you’re pulling him up by the shirt collar until he’s sat back on the bed.
you shove him, and mingyu falls on his back. one more blink and mingyu’s met with the image of you lowering your pussy onto his mouth.
you straddle mingyu’s face, grabbing hold of his hair as an anchor before you start to rocklike crazy. your dress covers his eyes, but he’s undeterred as his hands find your ass and push you further down, gladly presenting his tongue for you to use.
mingyu can hardly breathe, but he’d die happily if the last thing he hears is your moans as you ride your orgasm out on his face.
his scalp burns when your fingers twist impossibly tight, hips grinding onto him so hard that even his teeth ache — but then a fresh wave of slick is gushing onto his tongue, and mingyu knows that you’re cumming.
it’s all too much for him and his painfully erect cock, and before he can even register what’s happening — mingyu’s stomach is lurching, cock spilling a hot load into his sweats.
you climb off him, looking unkempt and yet every bit still gorgeous. you tug mingyu by his neck into a kiss, feral and sloppy. teeth gnashing and tongues twisting. your chin sliding against his chin, covered in your cum and his own spit.
mingyu’s the one who breaks it off this time — as much as it pains him, he probably would’ve suffocated on your tongue there with just how breathless he’s been since you unsaddled from him.
you notice, allowing him a moment to actually get some air back into his lungs as you kiss along his jaw and above his adam’s apple. it bobs as you leave a peck there.
turning your attention to the rest of his body, you tug on his shirt, and mingyu lifts his arms to let you pull it off. chest bare, you begin to ravage him, leaving your mark as you suck hickeys and nip bites at his honey skin. your tongue runs through the valley of his pecs and the ridges of his abs, stopped only by the band of his sweats. you pull back, eyes landing on the large stain in his pants, and your lips curl into a smirk.
“aw,” you pout. “i’m flattered.”
you peel his waistband back, and mingyu takes the hint to raise his hips and let you pull these godforsaken sweats all the way down. he winces when his cock slaps against his stomach, sensitive and yet still fully hard.
you take a moment to just admire it, and mingyu gets progressively shy, pre beading at his tip like there isn’t actual cum still covering his length.
you wrap gentle fingers around the base, smiling at how it jumps in your hand. what mingyu doesn’t expect is for you to lean down, and press your lips against the head of his cock.
mingyu groans, so sensitive and yet so fucking good. you don’t go too hard as you mouth at his tip, then darting your tongue out and running it down his length — licking up all the cum dripping down to his balls. you even leave a kiss on his sack, and he shivers, almost shutting his legs on instinct.
he giggles. “sorry, no one’s ever—”
“i could spend all day down here,” you tell him, eyes alight and smile beaming. you really do mean that and you want him to know it. “you’ve got more than enough for a girl to be grateful for.”
mingyu shivers again as you leave an open-mouthed kiss on his cock, running your lips over his length, though he’s not sure if it’s because of that or because of your words.
“almost didn’t believe a man that looks like you could be so desperate, but now..” you press your thumb to his frenulum, revelling in the moan that rips from his chest. “what a lucky girl i am, huh?”
“ffu—shit, you mean i’m the lucky one,” mingyu manages to grit out. “haven’t been laid in forever.”
“see now, i just can’t believe that. well, i do, now that i’m actually touching you—” you squeeze his tip as if to make a point, and mingyu nearly thrashes from how much that just built his next orgasm. “guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time, hm?”
mingyu nods feverishly. you smile, so entirely endeared with him.
with how much of a package mingyu is (in more ways than one), you probably would’ve still fucked him even if you found out he was lying about being pathetically bitchless. now, his good looks are just a bonus. you’re going to fuck him because you’re starting to feel quite fond of him.
“where’s your condoms?” you ask him, granting his poor cock some mercy and instead choosing to run your hands over his sweat-slick abs.
“er..” his mind blanks for a moment, too caught up on the fact that you’re really about to fuck him. “pants pocket.”
you stand from the bed, kneeling down to reach into where you threw his pants on the floor. you arch a brow at mingyu, no doubt realising how he’s got an entire stash of condoms in there, but you don’t mention it.
back on your feet, you shrug your dress off, revealing nothing but a bare, beautifully sculpted body beneath.
“wah..” mingyu unintentionally says out loud, just admiring you.
you roll your eyes, ripping the condom packet open with your teeth. “don’t cum before i even put it in.”
“better hurry then..” he smiles, flashing his sharp canines.
it’s all fast movement from there: you slip the condom on mingyu, snickering a comment about how it took forever until it reached the base, and then you position yourself right above him.
mingyu holds his breath, expecting you to ease onto him — totally unprepared for you to just drop down.
mingyu body curls upwards like you’ve just winded him, cursing like a sailor over your heat wrapped around him. he already knew it’d be like this, even with all the prep, but you’re so fucking tight. you’re just sitting there, not even moving, and yet your pussy is strangling the fucking life out of his cock.
he’s so caught up in trying not to cum prematurely that he forgets about your own discomfort. mingyu recollects himself, pressing a gentle palm to your back as he schools his shaky breathing.
“you okay?” he wheezes out, eyes screwing shut at the pulse your pussy gives.
“mm.” you hum, offering no sign to fuss over, but that doesn’t stop mingyu. holding your waist, he attempts to lift you off of him, but you cut that shit out immediately when you grind yourself forward on his cock. he keels over, head buried into your shoulder.
“‘s a lot to take, but i’m fine, mingyu.” you reassure him, fingers playing with his hair since you’ve realised how much he seems to like it. “are you okay?”
he groans out, intending for that to be a yes. you giggle. “i’m going to move now, alright?” he repeats the groan noise in reply.
you plant both feet on either side of mingyu, balancing yourself with your hands holding his hair, and then you start to bounce. just slowly to start off, letting your pussy adjust to the massive ass cock spearing you open. you know that if you were to have inched down, your pussy would’ve tried to push it out, so making mingyu fit meant just taking it all at once.
he currently looks like he’s the one that has to adjust to you, though.
mingyu lets out a stream of whimpers into your ear where his head is lolled onto your shoulder, just pliantly taking what you’re giving him. all of his brainpower is channelled into holding his cum back right now.
his effort is almost in vain when you speed up, bouncing so hard that his balls smack into your ass with each thrust onto him.
he’s moaning so loud he didn’t even realise the desperate cries coming from your mouth too — dick twitching so violently he didn’t even realise how much you’re pulsing around him.
mingyu pulls back, knowing he’ll regret it if he spent the entire duration of sex with his face stuffed in your shoulder — his eyes captivated on where your bodies connect.
he can’t find the strength in him to offer anything more than his hips stuttering up, attempting to meet each of your bounces on him. in and out, in and out, in and—
“fuuuuucck,” mingyu drawls, eyes rolling so far back he catches a glimpse of his own brain.
you don’t mention it as you quickly wipe some drool from the corner of his mouth, then gasp as you feel his cock spasm like a snapped rubber band. “shit, mingyu, are you—”
you don’t get to ask and he doesn’t get to answer before his orgasm slams into him like a bag of bricks. mingyu’s head lolls back, knuckles turning white where they’re holding onto your waist for dear life, sure to leave bruises in their wake.
you fuck mingyu until you’re certain the condom must be flooded, and then you fuck yourself on him some more.
mingyu’s unintelligible at this point, hoarse voice almost unrecognisable as he can do nothing but moan through the sensitivity. it’s raw and god it hurts but you don’t stop fucking him. he doesn’t want you to either.
your bounces shift into rocking your hips on him, his spent cock rubbing deep and perfectly into your g-spot. your clit grinds on the skin of his groin with each movement, and before long you’re riding out a second orgasm on him.
mingyu takes it, long past his limit but loving every second of you just using him like a toy. he even tries his best to fuck up as you’re cumming, the sweet thing.
after the last wave of your orgasm gushes around his cock, you just lay boneless on mingyu — his body keeping you both propped upright as you catch your breaths and your trains of thought.
his large hand comes to caress your back. he winces when you pulse around him once more, his cock softening inside the spent condom.
“you should probably take the condom off.” you mumble into his collarbone.
he hums, finger mindlessly drawing shapes onto your back.
“and put a new one on.” you add, leaving a peck on his jaw like what you said was nothing out of the ordinary.
“wait, what?”
“what?” you eye him like he’s the one who said something crazy. “did you think that’s all i came for?” you continue, smile stretching across your face.
“uh…” well, yeah. every other girl he’s been with was halfway out the door before he could even tie the condom up.
you kiss him, sweetly this time. a stark contrast to the sloppy, tongue filled make-outs you were having just minutes ago.
“unless you don’t want this as much as you’ve led me to believe..” you tease.
“fuck, i do, i do.” he confirms quickly. “just… give me five minutes.” as if on command, his temple throbs with pain. “and some ibuprofen.”
you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.
god, you’re going to wring all 12 inches of him dry.
...is this enough to ask if you’d like to go out sometime?
MATING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEETING: The House Rules are made to make the pack function - they're vital to a pack this size, and everyone loves the House Rules. Especially you, the single omega in the entire pack, who the House Rules are designed entirely around.
FRIDGE NOTES: This collection functions as an interactive piece between myself and readers. Every chapter posted of this universe will be a request from you - the reader. Readers who would like a chapter of this written will fill out the request form, and that will serve as the framework for me to write a chapter. This collection is not meant to have a plot or overarching theme - it's entire purpose is to write smut, fluff, angst - whatever you, as the requester, wants, so long as it makes general sense to the pre-established universe where all of seventeen and reader function as an established back that live together!
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Some chapters may contain smut. All chapters will be warned appropriately.
PACK SCHDULE: This series has no schedule. I fill requests as I can and this only gets updated if I have requests! This series also has no scheduled end - requests will remain open until I no longer want to work on the fic.
REQUEST RULES:
☼ In general, ensure your requests are reasonable.
☼ Requests must be within this initial concept of the pack together in a shared omegaverse. Requests outside of this concept will be deleted.
☼ I will fill requests at my own pace.
☼ Not all requests may be filled, either because they are duplicates, may make me uncomfortable, may not make sense to the overall work, or because there is something about them that doesn't work.
☼ You may not change the pre-assigned sub-gender of a member in your request
☼ Your request shouldn't force me to ret-con or backtrack/negate something already posted
REQUEST FORM: Request here
THE HOUSE RULES:
1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL
2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU
3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN
4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA
5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK
6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO
7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU
8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO
9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON
10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK
11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN
12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN
13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI
14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN
15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON
16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG
MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao
MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan
synopsis ➳ you see him at a dodgers game and for you it is game over. except, it looks like he isn't interested in you. however, the chemistry between you says otherwise.
pairing ➳ dilf!s.coups x fem!reader
genre ➳ strangers to lovers, age gap romance, smut.
word count ➳ 8.2k + 1.1k (bonus)
warnings ➳ mdni, age gap!!! (9yrs), slightly toxic dynamics, cheol is an absolute gentleman in the first half and a monster (in bed) in the second, reader is horny af, sexual tension/frustration, possessiveness, messy makeouts, unprotected sex, male oral and ofc big dick cheol, gagging, crying, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nasty sex in general bruh.
a/n: those pics of cheol at the LA Dodgers game did something to me. and to be fair, cheol isn't actually a dilf here (you'll find out). also, if age gap is not your cup of tea, DO NOT INTERACT!
I think I need someone older
Just a little bit colder
Take the weight off his shoulders
The crowd is quite suffocating.
You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.
This is really not your scene.
You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.
So what are you doing here?
Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.
It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.
But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.
You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.
Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”
Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island.
You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”
“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”
“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”
“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.
“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.
Yeah, that would be nice.
A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.
Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.
The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.
You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.
Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.
The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.
The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”
“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.
“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.
“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.
Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them.
“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.
“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”
“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.
He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.
“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”
Your ears perk up at his words.
“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.
“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.
You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.
A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.
“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.
“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”
“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.
You need to get laid.
“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”
“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.
“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”
“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.
“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”
“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”
“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”
You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.
You should get a check-up done. And get laid.
—
You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says,
Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol
Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.
Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.
Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday.
Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.
“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.
“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”
“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”
“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”
“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”
“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”
“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.
“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.
“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply.
“Why?” he sounds confused.
“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”
You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”
“Works for me.”
“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”
“Have a good night, ___.”
—
The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.
By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long.
You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.
“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.
You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.
“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.
“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”
Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”
He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine.
“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”
“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”
“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”
“You are a fan, I assume?”
“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod.
You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”
Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.
“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”
His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.
What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him?
You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth.
“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”
“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”
His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”
God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.
—
The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.
“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”
“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile.
“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.
Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?
Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”
“Hm?”
“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table.
The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”
Wow.
You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”
Wait, that is why?
“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.
He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”
You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”
Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.
“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”
With that, you march into your apartment building.
—
“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.
“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”
“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle.
Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.
“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”
“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”
“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”
“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”
“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”
“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”
“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”
—
It is the night of the gala.
This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.
As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.
However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him.
Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”
“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”
“I know but why is he here?”
Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”
“Exactly!” You hiss.
“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”
Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”
Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.
Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.
Can you not catch a break?
Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.
Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”
“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”
“Let’s talk somewhere private.”
“I cannot. I am working.”
“10 minutes.”
“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”
“5 minutes.”
You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.
“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.
“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.
—
You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.
That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.
“Is it okay if I steal ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.
Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.
“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.
“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement.
“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine.
“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.
“Huh?” He glances at you.
“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.
You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”
“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.
“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.
“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”
“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.
“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”
Silence.
The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.
“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.
You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.
“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot.
Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.
“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.
“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.
A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.
“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”
You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”
“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.
“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”
You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”
He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”
You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”
“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”
You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”
His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”
His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”
“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.
“From what?”
“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”
You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”
He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”
“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”
“Which is?” You croak.
“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.”
Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.
You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”
“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”
He blinks, “DILF?”
A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”
He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”
Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”
His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”
Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”
His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.
“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.
“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms.
He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.
Girl dinner or whatever they call it.
Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.
Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea.
“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.
“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.
“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.
Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.
“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.
“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.
Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”
His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.
“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.
Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.
“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel.
“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.
“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.
“Yeah? You want more, baby?”
You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.
“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.
“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”
“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.
A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind.
“You okay?”
“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”
Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.
For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!
a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!
on a separate note, please keep yourself updated with the current state of the world, esp the ongoing genoc!de and wars. free 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩
(a/n): hellooo hellooo annyeonghaseo!!! I'm back. naked seungcheol got me all hot and bothered i couldn't help but write this. also the fact that i already knew he had a dad bod 🤨(not surprising because we literally live together) also it's my first time writing a headcanon, so I hope you like it ;)
SMUT ahead under cut!!
dad bod!seungcheol who still looks massive when he walks by. broad shoulders, heavy steps, arms that could still lift you like nothing if he tried - but there’s a softness to him now, one that’s crept in over the years. a little extra weight on his stomach, smells of baby formula, and that constant stubble because shaving every day doesn’t feel worth it anymore.
dad bod!seungcheol who complains about it sometimes, grumbling in front of the mirror while he runs a towel over his face. “need to start running again,” he mutters, or “can’t believe I used to have abs.” but you just lean against the doorframe, watching him, half-smiling because he’s still the same man - just… fuller
when he sits down, he spreads out - thighs taking space, arm slung behind the couch, posture lazy and open. you love that he doesn’t even notice how he fills a room anymore
dad bod!seungcheol who doesn’t understand why you’ve gotten clingier. why your hands always seem to find their way under his shirt when you hug him from behind, why you keep brushing crumbs off his chest when there are no crumbs, why your lips always linger a second too long when you kiss him goodbye
dad bod!seungcheol who still still wakes up before everyone else, shuffling around the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, making coffee like it’s a ritual. you watch him from the doorway - all broad shoulders, soft stomach, stubble catching the morning light - and suddenly you’re way too awake.
dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.
"fu-uck," he pants, "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.
"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.
"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.
dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.
he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.
he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.
"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"
“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”
"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"
you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.
"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.
"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."
your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.
“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.
“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.
he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.
you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.
“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”
kim mingyu & choi seungcheol from seventeen
and how is it y/n fault that the two (fantastic) one night stands were not just best friends, but room mates.
word count: 3.6k
warnings: threesome smut !! reader has a vagina & tits, name calling, p in v, effiel tower, oral sex both m & f receiving, breastplay, kitchen sex, cheol loves to motorboat you, daddy kink, sir kink, mingyu is a lil sub while cheol is a huge dom, big cocks!gyucheol as it should be, vouryerism masturbation, overstimulation, double creampie, sex without a condom (pls wrap it !!!), filming, mirror sex, hair pulling.
a/n: surprise !!! wrote this right after watching the pretty woman music video, sat in my drafts and now it's my thank you for 200 followers after realising how hot it truly is. thank you for the support and i can’t wait to keep writing for yall <3
You smiled at the dark hair, hot, fit man that peacefully slept next to you. Glancing at the clock that read 6am, you realised you've overstayed your welcome as you slowly and quietly creeped around his bedroom to change back into last night's clothes (without the shoes or your purse, that's at the front door) and even stealing a piece of minty gum that was on Mingyu's desk. But you truly would not be able to guess, the surprise on what was on the other side of the door when you opened it.
You winced at the sound the door made, trying to be as quiet as possible. Facing the door as you quietly closed it; it wasn't until you turned around to head to the front door nearby that you almost screamed. There stood, in all his hot blonde hair glory, clearly ready for a morning run by his attire was the last guy you hooked up with not even a week ago.
You looked around the apartment in shock until your eyes went back to him, his initial shocked reaction from seeing your presence now turning smug as he recognised you as much as you recognised him.
"You know, I thought you dipping like that before I woke up meant you didn't want to come back?" he asked.
Rolling your eyes with a hard chew to the gum still in your mouth, you gave him a fake smile. Acting sarcastic not wanting him to know how shocked you were but nonchalant instead. The fact Seungcheol stood shirtless in front of you, giving you flashbacks of the night from a week before, was not helping.
And he knew it.
He walked towards you, locking you in between his body and his room mate's bedroom door.
"Tell me angel, was my friend better or was it me?" Your chest was heaving, inner thighs tightening together as your eyes carelessly wandered to his lips, your inner demon just wanting them back onto yours and Seungcheol did exactly that.
It wasn't sweet. It was rough, needy and eagerly full of lust. His tongue entering your mouth to swipe the gum and somehow place it in his own mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in as your skimpy little club skirt was now grinding on his running shorts, as your hands ravaged his fit body. The grip on your ass was your signal to jump as he carried you more into their apartment, and to their kitchen. Seungcheol laid you down on their kitchen counter, making you shudder at the coldness but his body being on top of you as you both still heavily made out kept you warm. His hands unzipping the corset top from the front leaving your breasts bare for him as his lips move from your mouth to your tits.
"So you always go to clubs without a bra on?" he teased. You could only whimper as his fingers played with your nipples licking a stripe in between your breasts to then use his huge hands to basically smoosh your tits over his face to motorboat you. Hearing his groans in between your chest, you can't help but giggle.
"What's so funny?" He asks, biting your tit as he removes his face from your chest.
"You have a thing for motor boating?" You asked, recalling him doing the same thing as he fucked you last time.
"Well, it's because these tits are perfect, just as much as this pussy is." Seungcheol explains as one of his hands creeps under your skirt and cups your pussy tightly. It made your back arch and a loud moan escape, by quick reaction you covered your mouth with your hand as you look to the side where Mingyu's door is in slight fear that you were going to get caught.
Seungcheol saw this and a low growl escape, he then pulled your skirt and underwear down in one swift motion.
"I've been thinking about how fucking good you taste all fucking week, jerked off so many fucking times thinking about your pussy." He admitted. Seungcheol knelt down, holding your wrists to pin your arms to the sides of your body as his also laid his biceps across your thighs to restrict your movement. He blew air onto your pussy and grinned seeing you squirm.
"Want you to be loud baby, wake him up to a good surprise yeah? Call me daddy like you did last time." Before you could object, Seungcheol spat the gum in his mouth to the side so he could dive in head first. He wasn't lying about the fact he wanted this, needed this.
"Oh my god!" you yelled, lifting your head up to see his eyes already watching your every reaction and that only made things hotter.
What he didn't know was you thought about his mouth all fucking week too, though your one night stand rule was to dip without any other contact. A part of you wished that you did get Seungcheol's contact, you hadn't had anyone eat you out as good as he did. Which is one of the reasons why you even went out last night to try to forget the need for Seungcheol's mouth, is it coincidence or pure fucking luck for your distraction to be his fucking room mate of all people.
Seungcheol ate you out so good that it was loud and wet, the slurps felt like it was bouncing off the walls and he was devouring like a thirst deprived man receiving his drink. His tongue was fucking magic, going from flicking your bud to entering you and drawing figure 8s on your pussy. To just full on mouth on clit.
"Oh daddy I'm so close!" you moaned out, as soon as you did that you could feel the grin. He then let go of your hands to use one of his thumbs to rub circles on your nub and used the other to vastly thrust two fingers in you. With his tongue still working his magic and the motion of his fingers, you were going crazy, basically now humping his face. He loved the desperation of your movements that he stopped using his hands, including fingering you to wrap both his arms around your thighs to pull you even more closer to his face. Wanting you to cum on his mouth and his desperate mouth only.
It was giving you deja vu the last time you two fucked and how you felt you were suffocating him but he didn't care and things have clearly not changed. Your back arched as the pit of your stomach only felt tighter, you moved your head to the side for only a split second and paused with your blurry vision seeing Mingyu now wide awake in the hallway.
But yet, your shock only lasted for a split second and his presence, knowing he was watching only made you get to your release sooner. Your eyes travelled downwards to see Mingyu's hard cock against his grey sweatpants and that was it, your hand reached into Cheol's hair as you released all over his mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to control it with how good and sweet the release felt.
You shrieked when you felt your pussy get slapped, a signal to open your eyes and quickly diverting your head back to Seungcheol who stood proudly. The look in his eyes full of ego as he tasted what was left of your cum on his lips, his eyes never leaving your face and reading you were not a bit uncomfortable at the surprise third guest.
"Really Cheol?" You hear from Mingyu.
"Don't be whining Mingyu, technically I had her first." Cheol said with a smirk.
You see Mingyu's face turn into realisation. The moans that spilled out of your mouth last night that sounded like heaven in his ears to the point it naturally made his hips thrust faster sounded oh so familiar because he jerked off (and came) to the same moans only a week before.
"But..." Seungcheol coughs, now leaning onto the counter to face Mingyu (but where your legs were to not cover your view.)
Cheol's hand reached to cup your breast, his two fingers rubbing your nipple so you didn't feel neglected. It was like to tell you, without words that he was nowhere near done with you despite not looking directly at you.
"I think she likes this predicament right now, hm?" His eyes, finally now looking at you as he pinches your nipple making your body jerk by his touch. The eye contact between you and Seungcheol heavy, like he needed to read your facial expressions and how you were feeling.
"Does this little slut like knowing that you have two hard cocks wanting you right now?" You could only whimper at the dirty talk, your pussy still wet and brain mush from how hard he ate you out. Seungcheol's hand moved from your breast to your chin, cupping your face.
"Use your words darling, say you want us both right here at the same time and we're all yours." Seungcheol explained.
You nodded fast, in the back of your brain knowing how utterly pathetic you must look but you didn't care.
"Yes! Yes! I want both of your big cocks right now, please daddy." you begged to Seungcheol, then looking at Mingyu now standing closer to the both of you. You address him. "Please sir."
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And here you were. On all fours in Seungcheol's king size bed with his mirror closet giving you a view of how you looked when your eyes adverted to the side. You looked like a mess and it was a view all three of you wanted planted in your brains forever.
Mingyu, standing on one side with his huge cock in your mouth had you using one arm to steady yourself and the other to play with his balls. His hands were in your hair to balance himself as he harshly thrusted into your mouth.
Seungcheol, standing on the other side has his large cock slamming in and out of your pussy from behind. One hand gripped your hip tightly throughout the whole fucking while the other hand would go from gripping your other hip to thrust in you roughly to slapping your ass just when he felt like it. It was loud and messy, tears ran down your face at the pleasure.
Though Mingyu was thrusting in your mouth, you made sure to swirl your tongue to give him even more pleasure. Your eyes couldn't leave the sight above you, despite it being so blurry from the tears in your eyes. Mingyu was so fucking pretty. The way his eyes scrunched but forced himself to stare at you with his mouth agape and the grip on your hair tightening to signal when your mouth did a really fucking good job.
Mingyu was fighting a war with himself. He was shutting his eyes because the pleasure was getting to him but god, did he also want to see your pretty, teary eyed face that included seeing your eyes roll back from the pleasure Seungcheol was giving you.
For Seungcheol, he loved every minute of this. He also thought Mingyu was endearing when he was getting his cock sucked, of course this wasn't their first time sharing.
With your second orgasm approaching, you felt yourself getting closer to your release before Seungcheol was even done. You wanted to release Mingyu's cock to give a warning of your orgasm but his grip on your head was so tight. You didn't have to say anything though because Seungcheol knew you were close from how much your pussy was tightly gripping his cock.
He moved both his hands back to your hips, thrusting faster and harder that his balls slapping against your ass echoed throughout the bedroom.
"I know you're close baby, give it to me, coat my cock with your cum so I can paint you white." Cheol chanted, it only made your eyes roll and Mingyu grin at the sight once again.
"Fuck she love this." Mingyu moaned out, his hand going from your hair to your face and with both hands using his thumbs to stroke your hollowed out cheeks.
"Does princess like getting creampied? Want me to cum in your next?" Mingyu questions, you nod fast in his hands.
With Cheol's brutal pace and a grip on your hips that will leave bruises, you cum hard. Your arms losing the balance of keeping you upright making your mouth leave Mingyu's cock and though he hissed at the cold air. He rather cum in your pretty pussy than your mouth anyways.
You moaned and cried onto the bed, your body spasming at the pleasure. But Cheol didn't give up despite the new position. Still thrusting into your pussy vastly as your walls clutched onto his cock, you felt so fucking wet and tight that he couldn't help himself and came right after you. In you. The feeling of his cum spurting into your gummy walls only made your body yelp more, your hands gripping onto the sheets tightly.
"Thank you daddy! Thank you!' You screamed into the bed. Making more spurts of cum from Cheol come out.
Mingyu could have came at the sight of both of you orgasming knowing he was next.
You couldn't dare lift your head up, feeling slightly humiliated and knowing the makeup from last night probably looked even more messy as your chest was heaving. Pussy twitching. But that didn't last long as you felt yourself get flipped. Your back now laying on the bed as the two men switched places without you realising, you steadying your own breath was all you heard and focused on.
Mingyu smiling widely at your shock as he softly stroked your outer thighs.
"Ready to take me princess?" He asked. With your need to be their good girl, you nodded.
"Words" Mingyu sternly said.
"Yes sir, nee-" before you could finish your sentence about needing his cock. A large shriek fell out your lips as he pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed by your legs; to wrap them around his waist.
"Sorry for surprising you baby, but I'm not sorry for this." Mingyu utters and before you could question what he meant.
He thrusted his huge cock all in, making you loudly scream. The stretch hurt but my god was it delicious. Seungcheol was huge in the sense of his length, while Mingyu was huge from his girth. Both easily stretching you in different and addictive ways.
"T-Thought Seungcheol's cock prepped you already but you're still so fucking tight. Fuck ... babe." Mingyu stutters, chants, breathless.
You don't miss the weight of the bed dip as Seungcheol now sits beside you.
You reach your hand out to stroke Seungcheol's semi-hard cock to become hard again, but he hisses and smacks your hand away.
"Did I say you could touch?" He tells off, you whimper in response.
Instead of being closer to you, he moves away until his head leans against the bed's headboard. Legs criss crossed as he began to stroke his own cock while watching you get fucked. Your eyes never leaving each other as he does this, he smiles at your pout, finding you cute as your brain whines on how this isn't fair.
Before you could further complain, Mingyu readjusts his hips that he finds the spot you needed. It makes you gasp, your attention diverting back to him as he himself wears a similar pout to you.
"Pay attention to me too baby" he complains.
"I-I'm sorry sir! You fuck me so good sir, p-please don't stop" you moan out and praise. Back arching, eyes shutting as your delicious tits are bouncing from the thrusts, both Mingyu and Seungcheol can't stop watching your chest as one strokes his cock faster while the other penetrates you faster.
You can't control it any longer, your orgasm approaching and your mouth spewing every noise your throat can make. Mingyu fucking you so good, you don't even register how tight he's holding you or how Seungcheol's moaning with you. Unable to say any words, with a scream you come once again. Mingyu nearly topples over with how your pussy grips his cock while you orgasm, knowing why Seungcheol nearly lost himself as well.
With Mingyu's hard cock still plugged into you, not moving to let you have a breather both your eyes go to Seungcheol whose cum is splattered all over his stomach. You feel drool leave your mouth and both of them snicker seeing this.
An idea sparks in Mingyu's head, he takes his cock out of your warm pussy and before you whine of the emptiness he plunges two fingers in you.
"Get on all fours baby and lick daddy's cum off" Mingyu orders, both you and Seungcheol are surprised to hear him take control for the first time throughout this ordeal.
It makes you eagerly listen and as you move, reposition yourself. Mingyu's fingers never leave you. Instead he joins kneeling on the bed behind you, once you face Seungcheol you attempt to lower your head but Mingyu grabs your hair to lift your head up. You yelp in surprise but love the delicious burn like you did when you were sucking his cock.
"Film it on the bedside table Cheol" Mingyu orders, nodding to the phone on the same table and Seungcheol smiles. You feel your pussy flutter and cheeks blush at the same time,
"Hm, I was going to ask if that's okay angel but seems like it is. Naughty girl" Mingyu announces as he kisses your back softly.
When you hear the noise of the phone camera recording, you see it on the bedside table on selfie mode perfectly capturing all three of you.
"Lick baby" Mingyu orders again and lets go of your hair, just for it to be held in a makeshift ponytail by Seungcheol. You lower your head and lick a stripe of his load on Cheol's stomach, the salty and sticky liquid on your tongue making you hum as Seungcheol watches your every move of continuously licking his body. Hissing as you casually try to take his semi-hard cock's tip after licking his cum up. His cock was sensitive but if you went to suck him off, he wouldn't object.
At the same time, Mingyu unplugs his fingers to thrust his cock back into you. The motion making your lips that were around Cheol's tip now take his cock fully and deeper into your mouth.
"Oh shit" Cheol moans out, his cock now fully hard.
You wish this overwhelming pleasure of sucking Cheol's cock and Mingyu's fast thrusts mixed with your wet and full of cum pussy would never end. You bob your mouth up and down Cheol's shaft, tongue feeling his veins.
Seungcheol knew he wasn't going to last long, his free hand not in your hair gripping the pillow beside him as he thrusted into your mouth. Now he understood Mingyu's predicament before, he couldn't describe how good you sucked cock even if he tried.
Mingyu was in the same predicament, not knowing how much longer he can hold on as your tight pussy continues to grip him from the pleasure of sucking cock and Mingyu thrusting into your pussy so deliciously.
The fact this was the fourth orgasm they were pulling out of you and so close to your third, you were close as well. But with full persistent you wanted daddy to cum first, with the one hand not steadying your position just like you did with Mingyu. You played with Cheol's balls while deep throating him. That was all it took, as his load spilled into your mouth. Despite thinking you swallowed all of it, when your mouth left his shaft. You felt liquid still around your lips and leaving your mouth like drool but the warmth and thickness of it made you realise it was his cum on your lips.
"Oh fuck" Seungcheol quietly whispered, chest still panting. He grabbed the phone off the bedside table to film your face close up, your fucked out face was both beautiful and a fucking mess.
"F-Fuck I'm close" Mingyu panted behind you, using one of his hands to start rubbing your clit to get you closer. You bite your lip, tasting the cum. Seungcheol still filming every bit of this.
"Mingyu look at the phone" Seungcheol points out, moving it to the side a bit to still capture your makeup ruined face while letting Mingyu have his view.
The sight of your pleasured out face was all it took for Mingyu, cumming in your pussy with a scream from his lips. The sensation making your own pussy spasm and cum for the fourth time, both of them had massive loads that felt like they were filling your cunt to the brim. Just like before, your arms give up on you. Head plopping onto Seungcheol's thighs as he softly strokes your hair.
Mingyu grabs the phone from Seungcheol with shaky hands, now filming from the side right next to where his cock and your pussy were as your hips were still upright. Finally unplugging his cock, you and Seungcheol watch from the phone as Mingyu watches with his own eyes how the mix of all three of your cums trickle down your thighs, drops falling onto the bedsheets.
All three of you are sweaty and tired beyond belief, you feel your own eyes drooping to a shut on Cheol's thigh not even getting to see who was cleaning the sticky mess on your legs with a towel. All you heard and felt before your slumber was a kiss on the shoulder, hair strokes and a sentence of
"Sleep baby girl, you earned it, we'll be here."
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊
taglist (please send an ask off anon or msg me to be added):
@jakeyjakey-143z
Summary: You have one rule: don't catch feelings. But a sunday morning with Choi Seungcheol starts to feel dangerously soft, and when the miscommunication that follows sends you both spiralling—you back into your roster, him into someone else's arms—you're forced to confront the fact that no amount of revenge fucking can fill the ache he left behind.
Word count: 29.1k
Genres/warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort (?), smut/pwp (with some plot actually, wow!), university au, frat boy!seungcheol x camgirl!reader, fwb2l, idiots in love, jealousy and possessive behavior, miscommunication and assumptions, perceived emotional cheating, non-monogamous arrangements (temporary), use of sex as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, public love confession (livestreamed), possessiveness as a love language, mentions of slut-shaming and social isolation, minor blood (biting, scratching), multiple sexual partners (on-page, say hi to mingyu, hoshi and woozi), soft domestic moments, found family (wonwoo & minghao), some alchohol consumption (once); oh, probably some bullshit psychology major representation i'm sorry we sacrificed logic (in other aspects too) in this fic for smut's sake; if i missed anything lmk
Smut warnings: Minors DNI, explicit sex work (solo and partnered cam performances), livestreamed sex, oral sex (f and m rec), deepthroating and facefucking, throatfucking to the point of tears, messy oral (spit, drool, gagging), vag sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink (talk of filling up, cum inside), multiple orgasms, overstim, clit stimulation, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration (vaginal & anal, 2 partners), threesome (mmf), tit-fucking, cum on face and chest, cum eating, spitting as lubricant, degradation (name-calling: slut, cocksucker, etc.), praise kink, daddy kink/roleplay (performative, fan-driven), possessiveness during sex, size kink (implied), impact play (light face-slapping with cock), scratching and biting (drawing blood), pain play (minor), manhandling and being moved into positions, sex on camera with an audience, clothed sex (panties pulled aside), morning sex, semi-public sex (against a door at a party), soft aftercare, showering together, soft and tender sex after reconciliation, use of alcohol (drunk at a party, but all sex is enthusiastically consensual); if anything is missing lmk, i tried to make it more detailed than usual
A/N: i have seriously nothing to add here. maybe because as i prepare this post for queue i'm super fucking exhausted. i am happy to have finally written and posted something. i hope you guys enjoy it. i also thank all of my moots who i've been terrorising with tiny snippers while writing this. a special thanks to my writing wife @pochaccoups you saw the whole thing before it saw the world, including my absurd title joke lol. ly <3 as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist.
The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.
You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.
Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.
"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.
He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."
"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"
"Why?" His voice is strained.
"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."
Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.
This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.
Unlike—
"There you are."
The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.
You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.
Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.
You turn your head.
Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.
His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.
"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."
He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.
"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.
You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."
"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."
Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.
"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.
"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"
"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.
Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.
The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.
And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.
"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."
"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.
"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."
"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.
Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"
"He won the game."
"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"
You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."
"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."
Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.
"Fuck,” you breathe.
"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.
God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.
"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.
"It's been three days."
"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"
You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.
But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.
"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.
"Busy," he repeats, flat.
"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"
Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.
"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.
You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.
"Cheol—"
"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."
His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.
This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.
Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.
Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.
The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.
So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."
"Cheol, please—"
"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."
"Please—fuck, your mouth—"
"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."
"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"
"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.
He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.
You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"
Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.
He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.
"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.
"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.
"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."
You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.
The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.
"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"
"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."
"Then show me."
You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.
"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.
You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.
The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.
"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."
You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.
It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.
"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."
You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.
"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"
You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.
He gets the message.
His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.
"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."
Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.
"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"
You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.
The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.
He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."
"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"
His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."
You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.
"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.
"Cheol—"
"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."
You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.
"Hold them together for me."
You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.
"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.
The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.
"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."
You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.
"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."
The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.
You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.
Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.
"Hey," he says.
“Hey,” you croak back.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."
He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.
You push the feeling down. You're good at that.
When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.
"I'll survive," you manage.
"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."
You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"
"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"
The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."
"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.
You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.
The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.
He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.
"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."
Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."
"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.
And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.
And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.
"You okay?"
"Mhm."
"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"
"I'm fine, Cheol."
"Need water? You should drink some water."
"You're not my mum."
"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.
The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"
"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.
Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.
You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.
"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.
'''M not."
"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."
He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."
"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.
He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.
He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.
Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.
"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"
Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.
Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.
"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"
"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."
Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.
He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.
He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.
Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.
"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."
And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.
You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.
Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.
But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"
"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.
"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.
"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."
"Hmm, is that so?"
There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.
"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."
You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.
"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."
You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.
"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."
"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."
You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.
You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."
You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.
Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.
"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"
You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.
"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"
"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"
He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.
He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.
"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."
You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.
The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.
Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.
At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.
You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.
You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.
One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.
It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.
And that's enough. For now, it's enough.
Monday can wait.
Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.
It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.
hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.
There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.
You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.
Your coffee choices are atrocious.
His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.
Dramatic.
ouch, another wound:(
You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.
You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.
Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.
Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.
Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.
Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.
You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.
so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??
Your stomach drops.
You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???
You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.
It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.
You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.
But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.
The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"
Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.
This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.
You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.
The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.
So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.
Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.
You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.
They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.
"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."
"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.
"You're making a face."
"I'm not making a face."
"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."
"I don't have a Seungcheol face."
"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."
"I hate you both."
"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."
"Jihoon studies with me."
"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."
"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."
Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.
Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."
You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.
They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.
Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.
"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."
Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"
"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."
"It wasn't a date."
"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."
"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."
"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."
"Mingyu's fine."
"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."
"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."
"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"
"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."
Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.
"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."
You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.
"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."
There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.
"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.
"It's terrifying," you murmur.
Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.
"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."
You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.
Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."
You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"
"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."
"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."
"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."
"True."
You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.
"Thank you," you say quietly.
"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.
"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."
Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."
"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."
"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."
You stare at him. He turns a page.
"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.
"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.
Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."
"It's not exactly traditional."
"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"
You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.
But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.
The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.
"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."
"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.
"Alleged."
"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."
You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.
Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.
But first, the cognitive psych exam.
The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.
There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.
You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.
You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.
Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.
Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.
Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.
Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.
The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.
You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.
You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.
The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.
The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.
It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.
You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.
Fucking hilarious.
You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.
But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.
So instead, you start walking toward them.
Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.
She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.
Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.
The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.
"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.
Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.
The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."
"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"
Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"
"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."
The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.
"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.
"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."
Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."
"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."
Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.
"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.
"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."
The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"
"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.
You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.
You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.
But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.
It doesn't.
By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.
This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.
You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.
Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"
"You free right now?"
"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"
"Bring Jihoon."
Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"
"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."
He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.
You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.
By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.
You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"
"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.
Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.
"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"
"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"
"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."
"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."
"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."
They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.
Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"
"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."
It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.
Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.
"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."
You open your mouth and take him in.
The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."
You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.
"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."
You hum around him, and he groans.
"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."
He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.
"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."
Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."
"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."
Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.
"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."
He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.
Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.
"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.
"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"
"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"
"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."
"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"
"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.
The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.
"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.
"Ready."
He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.
The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"
"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."
"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"
"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.
"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"
"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."
You shatter.
The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.
They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.
For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...
Empty.
The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.
Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.
You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.
"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.
They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.
"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."
"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."
Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."
"Will do."
They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.
The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.
It doesn't work.
The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.
You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.
You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.
You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.
You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.
You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.
Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.
You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.
But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.
The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.
can we talk?
You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.
You don't answer.
The second text comes Saturday morning.
i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.
You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.
You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.
His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?
Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.
You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.
He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.
By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.
You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.
It's not working.
The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.
But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.
Instead, you work.
Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.
"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"
He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.
"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."
"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"
He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.
"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."
Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.
"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.
"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."
He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.
"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."
"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.
The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.
"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"
"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.
The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.
"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."
"Gyu—"
"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"
"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."
Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.
You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.
"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.
"Yeah," you say. "Really good."
And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.
Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.
So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.
Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.
"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.
"Different how?"
"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."
"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."
"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"
Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"
Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."
"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."
"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"
You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.
Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.
"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.
Your rhythm stutters. "What?"
"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."
You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.
So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.
Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.
Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.
Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.
"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.
"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.
"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."
"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."
"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."
You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."
"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.
"Apparently."
"Busy with what?"
"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."
Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.
"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.
Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"
"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."
You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.
"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."
"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"
"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."
"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.
"I'm not."
"You're doing the Seungcheol face."
"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"
There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.
"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."
"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."
"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"
"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"
Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—
Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.
"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."
"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"
"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."
You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."
"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"
"I'm stocking up."
"You're avoiding."
"I'm not."
"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."
You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.
"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."
"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."
Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.
You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.
But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.
You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.
That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.
By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.
You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.
But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.
You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.
But you want to. God, you want to.
And that's the worst part of all.
You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.
The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.
Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.
"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."
The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.
"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"
"Posted the new guy video finally I see"
"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"
A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"
The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.
You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.
"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."
"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"
Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."
You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.
You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."
The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.
You're forty minutes in when it happens.
You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.
"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"
The apartment door opens.
You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—
And then you remember.
The key.
Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.
Until now, apparently.
Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.
"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."
You glare at him.
You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.
The chat notices.
"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"
You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.
"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.
"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"
You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.
"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."
"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.
You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.
You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.
The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.
"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"
Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."
A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.
You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.
“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.
"What?"
"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"
"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."
"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.
Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.
The chat goes absolutely feral.
"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"
Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.
But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"
"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.
His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."
What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.
You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.
He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.
"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."
You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.
"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.
It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.
"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"
Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.
"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"
"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"
"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"
"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"
"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."
You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"
"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."
The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.
"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"
You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.
"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.
"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."
A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."
He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."
"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."
"We really did."
"Everyone saw."
"No doubt."
You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.
"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."
"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."
"Even when I'm a disaster?"
"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."
The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.
"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"
Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."
"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"
He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"
"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."
The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.
"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"
The chat erupts.
"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"
You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.
"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."
"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."
"Oh my god."
"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."
"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.
The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.
"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"
Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."
You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."
"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."
You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.
But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.
"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."
His eyes darken. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."
"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."
He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.
The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.
Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.
"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."
"Cheol—"
"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."
He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."
"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.
Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."
His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.
"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."
"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"
He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.
Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.
"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."
Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.
The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.
"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"
"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"
"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"
"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."
He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.
"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"
"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."
You shatter.
The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.
"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"
"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"
He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.
He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.
For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.
"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."
"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"
"I think we broke them."
"Probably."
He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."
"What?"
"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."
You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.
"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"
You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."
"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"
You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.
"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."
"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."
And you do. You really, really do.
He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.
"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."
You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."
"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.
The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.
"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."
"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"
You switch off the stream.
The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.
"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.
"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."
"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."
"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.
"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."
Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.
"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."
"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment.
— WC: 4.6k
— WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.
here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:
you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.
joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.
but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.
which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:
“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”
“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.
“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.
you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.
“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”
which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.
you unlock the door, push it open,
and immediately wish you hadn’t.
seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.
your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.
the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.
he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.
the next few seconds happen in slow motion.
his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.
“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.
you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”
“what about joshua?!”
“he… he needed a document.”
seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”
“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”
“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”
“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”
“HE’S NOT HERE.”
“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”
but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”
you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.
back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.
so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.
“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.
you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.
“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.
seungcheol tenses. “so?”
“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”
he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.
so you take a step forward. just one.
his breath hitches.
“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”
he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.
so you take another step.
and another.
until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.
his jaw tightens. “don’t.”
“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”
in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.
you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.
his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”
you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.
so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
“or what?” you whisper.
his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”
your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.
“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”
he snaps.
the shirt under you is gone.
his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.
you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt.
his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.
the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”
no warning. just that.
you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.
there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.
seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.
but he’s not.
because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.
your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.
and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.
so he helps.
his hands clamp down on your waist.
and then he slams you down.
the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.
because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.
but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.
your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.
you can’t move.
“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.
“too big for you, baby?”
you whimper.
“thought so.”
and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.
and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.
“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”
you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips.
his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.
he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.
“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”
you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.
and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”
a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.
he groans, grinding up into you.
“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”
your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.
and he sees it.
his grin turns cruel.
“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”
you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.
“poor little thing.”
he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.
and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.
“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”
his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.
“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”
he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.
“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.
“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”
his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.
“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”
he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.
“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”
heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.
“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”
his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.
“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”
he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.
you shatter.
your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.
it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.
your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you.
the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.
seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.
“you good?”
you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”
he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.
his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”
you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.
you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.
you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.
you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.
his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.
“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.
you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”
he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.
you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.
he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.
the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.
his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.
your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.
your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”
you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.
he sees it. he knows.
his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.
your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.
but then—a whimper.
not from you.
from him.
you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.
seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.
he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.
“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”
your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”
he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.
your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.
seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.
your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.
your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.
you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.
but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.
the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.
but it’s enough to make him look at you.
you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.
then it hits you.
the documents.
joshua.
fuck.
your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”
seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”
he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”
you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”
“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”
your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”
“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”
“no.”
he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”
you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.
yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.
ꨄ︎ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Seungcheol is quite needy this morning. Will you give in?
ꨄ︎ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: husband!Seungcheol x f.reader
ꨄ︎ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, smut, a lil fluff, 18+
ꨄ︎ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (missionary, riding), nail digging, overstimulation, clit stimulation
ꨄ︎ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8K words
ꨄ︎ 𝐀𝐍: Randomly thought about Seungcheol begging for it randomly this weekend and I needed to write it haha. Thank you @hannieoftheyear for looking at this so quickly. Love youuuuu <3
“Come on, baby—”
“No, Cheol. I have to go to work, and I cannot be late again.”
“Just the tip, please—”
“Cheol.”
It’s one of those mornings when your husband, Seungcheol, can’t keep his hands off you. It started early this morning when he woke you up with kisses before your alarm went off five minutes later. Not wanting to risk being late, you slipped out of bed and ran into the shower, hoping it would stop his antics. But then you catch him watching you as you dry off, discreetly palming himself under the blanket. You feel him creep up on you as you’re bent over, rubbing your body with your favorite lotion that leaves you smelling divine. You throw him a look in the mirror, watching him gaze at you with a mix of love and lust.
“It’s not happening, sir,” you warn, turning to face him. “I can’t be late to work today.”
“Why?” He raises his brows. “Do you have an important meeting today?”
“No,” you say carefully, acutely aware that you are still naked. “I just don’t want to be late today.”
You are putting up a brave front, stepping around him and into the closet. His hand brushes against your hips on the way, and tiny jolts of excitement spread throughout your body. Despite you saying no, your body says the opposite, your insides practically screaming to let him put in said tip. It doesn't help that Seungcheol looks the sexiest in the mornings, with his sleepy look and slightly disheveled hair. You imagine your fingers running through it, tugging it tightly while you kiss his perfect lips, riding him—
“Ahem.”
Snapping out of your reverie, you glance at Seungcheol before praying your perfume and body mist. He saunters toward you, his hands caressing your hips as his lips grace your neck. Your breath hitches involuntarily, your body betraying you as it reacts to his touch. He knows what he is doing, and you want to give in, but you must stay strong and stick to the schedule.
“Seungcheol,” you softly murmur, attempting to free yourself from him gently. “Not now.”
His fingers sneak lower, flirting with your bikini line. You turn, squinting your eyes at him before successfully unwrapping his hands around you and walking away. You had to leave for your own sake, because if you stayed a minute more, he would have you bent over the bathroom counter, again.
“I don’t know why you’re fighting it,” Seungcheol’s voice carries from the closet. “I know you’re thinking about it.”
A slow smirk plays on your lips, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the vivid imagery playing in your head. Your body tingles with excitement and lust, thinking of the last time he suggested ‘just the tip.’ You hear shuffling in the closet, and you pretend to look busy, digging for something imaginary to deter Seungcheol on his conquest. Unfortunately for you, when you turn around, Seungcheol is shirtless, twirling the matching set of bra and panties you had set out for today. He has a mischievous glint in his eye that makes you gulp. God, you are in trouble.
“Are you looking for these?” Seungcheol asks, feigning innocence.
“Possibly…” your voice trails off, squinting your eyes at him. “Not sure how you ended up with them.”
“Maybe I wanted to help you get dressed, since you don’t want to be late and all.”
You scoff, moving towards him and attempting to grab your undergarments. “I’m a big girl,” you roll your eyes. “I can dress myself.”
“I know, I know,” Seungcheol nods in agreement. “But wouldn’t it be so much quicker if you had help?”
You raise your brow at him, aware of the game he is trying to play. You watch him lower himself to his knees, lifting your leg and sliding your panties through it. His eyes are pleading, practically begging for what he wants. He licks his bottom lip at the sight of your naked center, a small sigh escaping his lips. Heat surges through you like a blue flame, your cunt undoubtedly wet and craving his tongue.
“Stop,” you murmur, locking your gaze with his. “You know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?” Seungheol teases, kissing your inner thigh. “Tell me.”
“Don’t be coy with me,” you say with a resigned sigh. Looking at the time displayed on your digital clock, you gently grab his chin with your fingers. “Do it before I change my mind.”
“With pleasure, baby.”
His tongue graces your folds, tasting and playing with your clit in ways that make you gasp, clutching onto his hair. He doesn’t break his contact with you, carnal lust taking over him as he hums in your pussy. Pleasure courses through your body at the littlest movements, your hips slowly riding his tongue.
Seungcheol grips your thighs tighter, and he delves deeper, slurping and moaning sounds echoing in the room. The vibrations of his lips make you twitch, gripping his hair tighter. “Fuck, Cheol,” you grit your teeth, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.
“You look divine on my tongue, baby,” he murmurs, not letting up. “Give me more.”
With renewed vigor, Seungcheol slips two fingers inside of you, and you see heaven. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue flattening against your clit as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You’re coming undone, legs shaking as his name spills from your lips like a mantra. You make the mistake of looking down, his lips and cheeks covered with your nectar, and it sends you over the edge, screaming colorful obscenities as you fall into an abyss of pleasure.
Seungcheol is earnest, lapping up everything you offer him, gripping you tighter until your legs give out, your bed being your saving grace as you fall back. He chuckles, licking his lips incessantly as your wetness is spread all over his face. Mind fuzzy from the pleasure, you lie back on the bed, your sheets giving you a soft, cool reprieve to the hot sensation spreading all over your body.
“Are you okay, love?”
You make a minimal effort to lift yourself, studying your husband as he licks his lips, completely satisfied.
“I am… a puddle,” you burst into a giggle, in disbelief. “I can’t believe I let you rope me into that.”
“I can be creative,” Seungcheol gloats, running his fingers through his hair. The bed creaks as he climbs on, towering over you and kissing you deeply. You’re in a daze, his lips and your taste on his tongue putting you in a trance. You feel strung out, overflowing with a lust that only your husband can fix, and it doesn’t help that his tip is poking at your entrance through his boxers.
“So,” he clears his throat, drawing lines across your chest. “Did I earn it?”
You throw him a look before letting out a silvery laugh. Seungcheol, ever the pleaser since you first met him, will always make sure he does a good job. “I think you managed.”
Seungcheol looks at you, surprised, amusement etched on his face. “Managed?”
“Yes. Managed,” you tease him. “You could always be better.”
You roar into laughter as Seungcheol lifts your legs, shoving down his sweats and his large cock springing free. He taps it on your clit, oversensitivity and pleasure shooting through your thighs. Your nails dug into his arm in retaliation, a fire burning your belly as you crave to be fucked.
“Just the tip?” He asks, sliding slowly into your wetness. Your fingers cling to your sheets, your eyes rolling back as his girthy cock goes in inch by inch. You shouldn’t have teased him, you know this, because now he has you where he wants you, just as he planned.
“More than the tip,” you purr, accepting the inevitable. “All of it.”
Without warning, he snaps his hips into you, fucking you without mercy. His strokes are long, deep, the kind that fill you up with joy and leave you with tears in your eyes. He pulls you closer, tasting your skin as your nails dig deeper into his back. Your walls spasm around him, loving every minute of the dick he is dropping off, for sure punishment for your teasing earlier.
“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling your peak reaching once more. “You feel so fucking good.”
You feel him grin against your neck, hitting you with a final stroke before lifting you and turning you over. He scurries to the baseboard, beckoning for him to come to him, wiggling his glistening cock. You crawl over to him happily, climbing over and sinking on him slowly, both groaning in unified satisfaction.
“Come here,” Seungcheol mutters, pulling you closer. “Give me your lips.”
His kiss is gratifying, your tongues interwining with another as you ride him, bouncing on his cock the way he likes it. Your pussy gushes as he fucks back, his fingers rubbing your clit vigorously like he owns it. Hit with a shock of pleasure that courses through your veins, you increase the pace and pull his hair, chasing your second orgasm. As if he read your mind, he pounds into you harder, taking your nipple and sucking on it fervently.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you whimper, everything turning white.”Don’t stop.”
“Never, baby,” he grunts. “Give it to me.”
It comes sharp and quick, your legs shuddering and your moans throaty and wet. You cling to Seungcheol as he talks you through it, whispering songs of praise and peppering you with kisses. His thrusts become rigid, signaling his own release as he lets out a loud guttural moan, your walls still pulsating as he empties himself into you. Relishing in each other, you still, your hearts beating as one, as he caresses your back. Love can’t describe what you feel.
“Are you still going to go in?” Seungcheol asks, drawing lines along your back. “Stay home and make it a 3-day weekend.”
Chuckling in the crook of his neck, you gaze at him, kissing him softly. “This was all a part of your plan, huh? Fuck me good and leave me too tired to move?”
Seungcheol peals into laughter, caressing your cheek. “And if it was?”
You lock eyes with him, a knowing look on your face as you lift off him slowly. “Do you remember the last time you begged for ‘just the tip?’” You point at the nightstand, your finger directed at a shiny baby monitor on display next to your wedding portrait.
“So?” Seungcheol shrugs with a smug look. “We can always have another.”
You shake your head with laughter, making your escape before you give him any ideas. A baby’s cry is heard through the monitor, and your heart pangs with guilt. The sunlight shines through the blinds, casting a soft glow that promises a peaceful day. You silently laugh, your shoulders shaking heavily as it dawns on you that at the end, Seungcheol is going to get what he wants.
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
୨୧ — You find Sukuna sprawled across his usual spot on the quad- the oak tree that everyone else avoids because he's always there, cigarette dangling from his lips, headphones blocking out the world.
“Hi!”
He cracks one eye open. Watches you drop onto the grass beside him like you belong there, your sundress pooling around your knees, a brown paper bag clutched in your hands.
“The fuck do you want.”
It's not a question. It's a dismissal. The same tone he uses on everyone- flat and bored and vaguely threatening…
You don't flinch. Never do. He hates it.
“I made onigiri!” You hold out the bag while smiling bright as the morning sun, “There's salmon mayo, karaage, and one with that spicy roe you like. I remembered from when you stole mine last month.”
Sukuna stares at you.
What the fuck is wrong with her, he thinks, something uncomfortable twisting in his chest. I ghosted her for three days after eating her out and fucking her and she brings me fucking LUNCH?
“I didn't ask for this.”
“I know.” You set the bag beside him anyway, “Buuuut I know you always skip meals when you're brooding. And your stomach was also growling when you walked by earlier... I’m pert sure the whole campus heard it.”
His eye twitches, “I don't brood.”
“Mmhmm.” You're already pulling out a thermos, “I brought tea, too. It's good for digestion.”
“Are you my fucking mother?”
The words come out harsh -sharp and cutting, designed to wound- and he watches your face for the flinch. The hurt. The moment you finally realize he's not worth the effort and leave him alone like everyone eventually does.
You just tilt your head, considering.
“Mmm, last time I checked I wasn’t,” you say softly, “But I am someone who cares.”
someone who cares…
The words hits him like a fist to the sternum.
We're not whatever this shit is, he wants to snarl. I fucked you until you cried. I made you beg for my cock like a whore. Now get lost.
But the words won't come.
Because you're looking at him with those big, earnest eyes -the same ones that had fluttered shut when he'd kissed you, the same ones that had gone glassy and wet when he'd made you cum- and there's no accusation in them. No expectation. No demand for an explanation or an apology or a definition of what the hell is happening between you.
Just... warmth.
Just you, being you, impossibly soft in a world full of sharp edges that want to hurt you...
Why.
The question claws at his throat.
Why are you like this. Why do you keep showing up. Why won't you just let me be the villain.
“Eat,” you say, nudging the bag closer, “I have to run to the library, but I'll see you later, okay? I really hope you like it!”
You're on your feet before he can respond, brushing grass off your dress, already waving at someone across the quad who calls your name. A girl from your friend group. A guy from your chem lab. The fucking dean, who stops to ask about the cookies you made last week.
Everyone knows you.
Everyone loves you.
And you'd spent your morning making rice balls for the asshole who ghosted you after painting your stomach white…
Sukuna watches you disappear into the crowd, your yellow sundress a spot of sunshine among the gray hoodies and backpacks.
He opens the bag.
Three onigiri, wrapped neatly in plastic, a little smiley face drawn on each one with marker.
Fuck, he thinks, and something in his chest cracks clean in half.
ʚɞ your car sputters to a halt on the deserted highway, the engine coughing it last breath. sweat beads on your forehead as you pop the hood, staring helplessly at the langley of wires and metal. you’ve been driving for hours, and the nearest town feels like a mirage.
That’s when you hear the rumble, a massive tow truck barreling down the road, its red paint gleaming.
The driver steps out and your breathe catches. He’s built like a wall of muscle, pink hair spiked wildly, tattoos curling over his exposed arms and peeking from the collar of his tight black shirt. His grin reveals sharp canines that scream danger. Sukuna, as the name stitched on his chest reads, eyes you up and down with predatory hunger, his gaze lingering on the way to your short skirt clings to your thighs from the sweat.
“Stranded huh? Lucky for you, I’m passing by. I’ll take good care of ya.” His voice is deep growl, laced with something filthy that makes your thigh clench involuntarily.
He saunters over, boots thudding on the pavement, and leans against your car door, towering over you. Up close he smells like diesel and a faint smell of cheap axe cologne, “pop the hood again doll, let me take a look.”
you do as he says, stepping back to give him space. His large hands move with surprising precision, probing the engine, muscles flexing under his inked skin. He mutters curses, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “Engine’s seized up good. You’re not going anywhere without a tow,” he straightens, fixing you with that intense stare.
“Climb in the front while I hook this up. Wouldn’t want you melting out here.”
You hesitate for a second, but the heat wins out. You slide in the passenger side, the seat cools against your bare legs, your skirt ridingg up while you adjust. Sukuna finished securing your car with efficient, powerful yanks, chains clinking loudly. He climbs in beside you, slamming the door and firing up the engine.
The vibration hums through the entire rig, buzzing up your spine and settling low in your belly.
He pulls onto the highway, the truck eating up the miles with a steady growl. Silence stretches at first, broken only by the wind whipping past. Then Sukuna glances over, his eyes raking over your exposed skin. “Hot as hell out here. You look like you’re about to pass out,” his hand lands on the flushed cheek then landing on the base of your knee casually. The squeeze is firm, thumb tracing a slow circle that sends spark racing up your leg.
“Or is that flush from somethin else?” You shift at his words, trying to play it cool, but the hear between you builds, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
“tell me about your trip,” he grunts, you start talking. About the road trip, the sights you’ve seen, how this breakdown threw everything off. He listens, nodding, but his hand inches higher with each mile, his fingers grazing the hem of your skirt. “Sounds lonely out, bet you could use some company that knows how to handle the rough parts.”
His words drip with double meaning, and when ou meet his gaze, there’s no mistaking the hunger. The truck feels smaller, the air is thicker, your pulse quickening as his fingers brush the edge of your panties, testing.
By the time the garage comes into view, a gritty haven on the edge of town, bay doors wide open to reveal tools scattered like weapons. Your skin tingles from his teasing touches. Sukuna kills the engine and hauls your car into the bay with a final jerk, then hops down and offers you a hand. His grip firm as he pulls you out, keeping you close. His body heat radiating against yours, “stay put, I’ll get you introduced.”
Another brooding man emerges from the shadows of the garage, siping grease from his hands on a rag. his dark hair messy and falling into his eyes, scar crisscrossing his lips. His tank top clings to his sweat slicked torso, scars visible where the fabric gaps, broad shoulders rolling as he approaches.
“whatddya drag in here this time?” the man utters, his eyes lock onto you, dark and appraising, like he’s sizing up a prize. He steps closer, the scent of motor oil and sweat washes over you. “Names toji.”
Sukuna’s arm snakes around your waist, “her ride is fucked, she needs a little engine fix up.” Toji chuckles low, circling you slowly, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips, the sweat dampened fabric of your top. “Look’s like she could use a thorough inspection.”
They stand on either side of you now, sukuna’s hand still on your waist, toji leaning in to brush a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers lingering on you cheek. “engine trouble huh? we know all about making things run smooth again.”
The garage air is cooler but heavy with tension, tools clanging faintly in the background as they ignore the car foe now. sukunas fingers dip lower, fidgeting with the hem of your skier, while tojis hand finds your arm, squeezing your soft flesh. “why dont you tell us what’s really overheating?”
His breath is hot against you ear. You stammer a response but it comes out breathy, heat pooling between your legs. They exchange a knowing look, smirks mirroring each other.
Sukuna backs you against the work bench, the edge digging into your thighs. “Let’s start with the basics,” you feel sukunas hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your top. Toji presses in from the front, his chest flush against yours, the bulge in his jeans grinding subtly against your hip. “yeah, peel back the layers. See what’s under the hood.” Toji’s lips graze your neck, not quite a kiss, just enough to make you shiver.
They take their time, drawing it out. Sukunas mouth hovering near yours, breathe mingling without closing the distance, “you like being handled rough?” he questions, you nod while his hand finally cupping your tit, squeezing through your thin fabric until your nipple hardens under his palm. Tojis hand joins, pinching the opposite peak, rolling it between his rough fingers.
Sukuna drawls out a laugh, “bet this pussys dripping already. been teasing her the while ride.”
Toji finally claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue thrusting deep, and dominating. Sukuna watches, then tilts your head to expose your throat, sucking a mark into your skin. They strip you slowly, toji yanking off your top exposing yourself to the both of them. “Soft tits for such a needy slut, gonna make ‘em bounce later.”
Sukuna drops to his knees, shoving your skirt up and hooking his fingers into you panties, he doesn’t rip them yet. instead, he presses his nose against the damp lace. Nudging your clit with the bridge of his nose, he inhales deeply. “Fuck, smell that. Soaked through.”
His tongue traces the fabric, wetting it further before he pulls it to the aside just enough to lap at your folds with brutal strokes that made your knees buckle. Toji unzips his jeans slowly, his thick cock springing free. Heavy, veined, and tip already leaking precum. He fists your hair gently at first guiding your mouth towards it. “Open up sweetheart.”
you part your lips, and he feeds it in by inch, letting you adjust to the girth before thrusting deeper, hitting the back of your throat. Saliva bubbles up, coating his cock as he sets a steady rhythm, fucking your face with controlled snaps. While sukuna mouth works relentlessly below, tow fingers plunging into your heat, curling to hit that spongy spot that has you moaning around tojis length, the vibrations making him groan.
After letting you ride out your high, they maneuver you like a prized possession. sukuna rising to bend you over the hood of your towed car, the metal still warm from the sun. Toji pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting ou lips to his tip. “Ass up,” sukuna commands, spreading you legs wide. His member was massive, maybe an inch longer than toji’s but not as girthy.
The head nudging at you clit, he teases til your whining. “you’re gonna take the both of us like a good whore aren’t you?”
you couldn’t form words, focused on the massive dick teasing your entrance. Toji tugs at your hair forcing you to look up at him, your eyes glossy and makeup ruined. “Answer brat.”
“Yes.” a grin stretches across their faces.
Sukuna lands on your ass, leaving a red mark, “gonna wreck this tight cunt. Beg for it doll.” you utter a small please and thats all he needs. He slams in, stretching ou to your limit, the burn exquisite as he bottoms out, balls slapping your slit. Toji knees in front, feeding his dick back into your mouth. Deeper this time, making you choke as tears prick your eyes from the fullness. Sukuna;s hips piston hard, each thrust jolting you forward onto toji’s cock.
The garage echoes with wet slaps of skin, your muffled cries, their guttural grunts. “Fuck, she’s so wet. so tight. all for us?”
Toji’s paces quickens, his free hand reaching down to pinch your nipple hard, twisting. “Swallow every drop when I cum, got it?” Pleasure coils tight in you tummy, sukunas relentless pounding hitting deep, his fingers now rubbing you neglected, swollen clit in rough circles.
You shatter first, pussy clenching around his like a fist, juices squirting down your tights onto the hood. He doesn’t stop, driving through your orgasm with brutal force until he is flooding your insides with hot spurts of cum, overflowing and dripping out.
Toji follows seconds later, bullying your throat, until you feel the twitch of his dick in the back of your throat. painting it white with his salty and thick cum. They haul you up between them, bodies pressing close. Sukunas seed leaking from your stretched hole, while tojis is dripping from your chin. “car’ll take a day to fix,” toji murmurs, smiling while he gropes your chest.
“you’re staying for the full service, s’my turn now.”
Sukunas laugh is a dark promise, his hand cupping your ass possessively. “ours now, pretty. get used to the overtime.”
Mia’s notes ♬: posting the draft bc i keep getting asks in my inbox
Toji Fushiguro is so comfortable with his masculinity that he lets his pretty hyper feminine girlfriend do whatever she wants to him.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You need someone to practice a new makeup look on? he’s there. No complaints, no side comments. Just him patiently sitting on your vanity chair while you work your magic on him. Here and there he grunts when you accidentally forget to tell him the next thing you’re about to do, but he never says anything about it. Just a grunt and a soft sigh through his nose.
You want to do a movie night where you both wear matching pink hello kitty pjs while doing face masks? He’s there. Lazily sitting on the couch with you curled into his side - beefy muscular arm draped around your neck - his large hand on your ass. His stoic face painted with the refreshing green face mask, hair pulled back with one of your pink fluffy headbands, and of course his large legs being kept warm with the pink hello kitty pj pants.
His eyes occasionally glance down at you then back up at the cheesy rom com playing on the tv. He makes some comments here and there about how dumb the guy is, or just really any side comment making fun of the dude while his thumb is rubbing circles on your hip.
You want to paint his nails with the new color of nail polish you just got? he’s sitting crisscross on the floor letting you play salon on his large scarred fingers, his sharp eyes watch your delicate hands work their magic. Once you’re done, taking his large hand out of the led nail lamp holding up his hand to his face showing him the fresh paint job. His nails now a light pink his middle fingers having two small rhinestone decal just for fun.
Tojis eyes drift from his pink nails up to your face, eyes shining with hope of him liking them and that soft smile on your glossed lips. Tojis scarred lip turns upwards into a small smile as his eyes look at his nails.
“i love them, babydoll.” His usual deep voice now tender and so soft. Before his eyes can even look back up at you, you’re already squealing and rambling about all the steps you did when painting his nails and of course Toji listens the whole time. Small head nods, little “oh really?” and “mhm” here and there letting you know he was paying attention to you.
Toji will always be the type to do whatever makes his girl happy, no matter how girly it is. He is right there going along with it just to see that smile on your face, plus he secretly enjoys being pampered with your soft tender hands.
synopsis . In which you get fed up with Sato (fratjo) for playing around with you and unintentionally get involved with his identical twin brother Toru (nerdjo), not knowing they’re simply two sides of the same coin.
content . afab!reader, porn with decent plot, messy relationship(s), fratjo’s an asshole in the beginning, bluntness, pervy!nerdjo, eventual threesome, degrading, oral sex, first time squirting & then doing it multiple times, getting caught, surprising dynamics, praise, pussy slapping, getting put in a headlock, confessions, filthy dirty talk, jealousy, marathon sex (gulp), spit, slightly bimbo!reader, choking, nerdjo is feral, full nelson, edging, getting passed around, frajo’s a voyeur, filth, slight angst, cum eating/swallowing, some cuckholding(?), masturbation, a silly ending, etc.
word count . 11.4k | author's note: this ended up being wayyyy longer than i initially thought it would be and it’s overly freaked the fuck out. hope you enjoy!! banner art by Rororogi Mogera. (not proofread—sorry in advance, truly)
In your defense, you didn't think he would care.
Sato Gojo—esteemed member of Sigma Chi, infamously known for his commitment issues, and noted to be the campus playboy—was the last person you thought would care about you sleeping with his twin brother.
Hell, he's also the last person who expected that same brother to be able to get this far with you. Toru is the shyest, dorkiest, and nerdiest part of the Gojo family, what could he possibly have done to catch your eye?
Sato had done his best to keep you away from and unaware of his six-second-younger brother's existence too. Yet somehow, here he is walking in on the two of you fucking in his bed.
Less upset at the sight and more confused, the only thing he wants to know is... what the fuck led up to this pairing?
——
For months and months prior to that, it'd been the same thing between you and Sato.
“She doesn’t mean anything to me, baby. You know you’re my favorite,” He’d say, cooing you with that manipulatively charming voice of his after you’d asked him about yet another woman he was talking to.
You weren't sure why you kept going back to him. He never told you how he felt about you unless he was inside you—and even then you’re certain those feelings were all sex-based and moderately untrue.
Yet something about him kept drawing you back in.
And if you had to guess what exactly it was...
“Fuuck, y’like that don’t you?” He’d groan, having one big hand clasped around your throat as he plowed you into the mattress. Sato rarely ever took his time during sex, too eager to make sure you cum & keep up his reputation of being a good fuck. “Like the way my cock kisses that sweet spot, huh?”
The rhythmic sound of his pelvis smack smack smacking! against your ass echoes throughout the room at a pitch almost louder than your sapped moans. “Mhmm,” You'd hummed in response, fingernails dug into the bedsheets below.
You couldn't bring yourself to think about all the other women that's been in this same exact position before you when his cock was far too busy gliding in and out of your soaking pussy. The same sheets your fingers are clawing at is also clasped in between your teeth tightly, drool wetting up the fabric pathetically due to how good you felt.
Only to be rudely interrupted by his hand gripping at your neck tighter and then tugging the upper half of your body allll the way up—his chest pressing into your back while his dick massages the gushiest spot inside you. “Don’t do that,” Sato huffs with that shit-eating grin on his face, “Speak up, pretty girl. I couldn't hear you.”
“Uhuhh, yes,” You pant, tongue beginning to dangle out of your mouth all whorishly, “I love it, Sato.”
Cocky like always, he'd let off that amused scoff and then nip at your ear playfully, “Yeahh, I know you do. Jus’ can’t get enough of me.”
Thinking back again, he had the biggest ego you’d ever seen.
Sato was tenderly humping the rest of his thick cock into you while you were nice and close, just to realize after the first few thrusts that you were trying to inch yourself away from him—your moans getting airier by the second.
His smile widened, “Hah, where’re you goin’?” He'd only made you cum three times since the two of you got here. Surely that wasn't enough to have you acting like this already. “Look at you, trying to run from me now," Sato scoffed with faux bitterness.
You barely got a moment to process what he was doing before you choked.
Warm lips pressing against your ear, “C’mon, I jus’ want one more outta’ you,” He purred, his arm slow to wrap around your neck while his bulking muscles pressed into the center of your throat. Whatever oxygen was on its way to your head all but died out as the man put you into a bullying chokehold and then flexed.
Your cunt squeaked juicily around him and his cockhead nudged in deeper because of the hold he had on you, otherwise rendering your body unable to escape.
That was one of many reasons why you always ran back to him. If Sato Gojo didn't know how to do anything else right, he damn sure knew how to fuck.
“Mhmm, that’s it, baby." His voice was huskier against your eardrums now and you felt your body shuddering with a sense of numbness as something slicker oozed around his shaft. "Take that fuckin’ cock—juuust like that.”
His thrust became slower while he held you in place and you'd never felt so full in your life. It wasn't until he suddenly snapped up into you that all air left your lungs and your eyes crossed.
Whatever sound you let out was beyond pathetic and only followed by a desperate, “S’too much,” that he could barely hear.
Rolling his eyes, he repeated the motion a few more times at a steady pace, letting you adjust to being arched and folded up how he wants you. “My dramatic girl, acting like you haven't been taking it just fine," He reminded you.
You almost believed him for a moment there until his free hand came snaking around your torso to press against your lower abdomen—right over the bulge his fat cock had created against your skin—and applying an egregious amount of pressure.
“M’gonna cum, Sato,” You cried out as his fingers slithered down to nudge against your clit. Never a firm rub or anything like that since he felt like his cock alone was enough to work what he wanted out of you.
He’d smile all victoriously and whisper, “That's it? Don't tell me you're still too scared to squirt on me?”
Truth be told, that was the one thing he couldn’t do for some reason.
He never said anything but he thinks maybe you’re just one of those women who need a little more effort put into in order to make you squirt. More effort of which he damn sure doesn’t feel like putting in.
Four orgasms in a row? That’s fine, he can do that no problem. Making you squirt? As badly as he wants to deep down inside, he just can’t.
You ended up leaving a creamy mess around his cock but it's not the spurting stream of wetness he was hoping for. After letting you tremble out of your high, he's slow with the way he unwraps his arms from around you.
You fall forward onto the bed and let out a heavy breath before smiling wearily in relief. No other guy on campus ever managed to make you cum even once so of course you didn't think much of the fact that Sato couldn't make you squirt.
Hell, you were unknowingly on the same page with him—thinking you might've needed extra effort put in for that kinda release. Which was fine, you didn't need that much from him. The fact that he could make you cum back to back was more than enough in your book.
Not his though.
Sato hated it. He hated how he couldn't make you squirt—the fact burned at his ego and wounded his pride greatly. He's made other women do it so he doesn't understand what the problem is. There were some nights where he wondered if maybe he was doing something wrong with you. Or maybe you'd found someone else who could—
He unknowingly scoffs at his thoughts, shuffling out of the bed and swiping up the nearest clean sweats to slip into. Who was he kidding? There isn't one other person on campus you'd go to over him.
And if he couldn't make you squirt, he knows there's no one else that could.
Amid his deep thoughts, you happen to look over and catch the way those white brows of his are neatly knitting together. He didn't even realize how his true feelings on the matter were written all over his face.
Your eyes had ran over him a couple times, pondering on all the scratch marks in various places. Places that your hands haven't touched.
And that's how the routine was with the two of you; high tension all throughout the day, let him fuck you 'til all your senses went numb, and then fade into quietness with little to talk about since Sato doesn't deem it necessary to get close with you in that way.
When you catch the way he's dragging his feet around the room, trying to clean the mess of clothes you two made prior to getting in the bed, your brows lifts with curiosity. Asking gently, "Hey, are you alright?"
Sato hums without turning around to you, running his a hand through his hair as if stressed out. "Yeah, m'fine." He grunts, glancing over at you after and adding a slightly comforting, "Are you?"
You nod in response to him and he stares for a moment longer than necessary, still deep in his thoughts about something he surely wasn't sharing with you anytime soon.
Why would he? You didn’t need to know that he was beating himself up over something so stupid. He’s well aware that he’s the best guy to ever sleep with you so, opening up to you about something so trivial wasn’t in his character.
There’d been jokes and banter between the two of you before—obviously—but it never went any further than that. The moment things threatened to dip into something real, something more tender or honest, Sato would shut it down with quick precision.
Which is exactly why you didn't try pressing for more of this dry conversation. Instead, you silently watched him tug a shirt over his head and then head over to the nightstand for his phone.
He's busy texting someone for a bit before he releases a huff and turns his head to see the way you've been quietly watching him, "Did you want me to run you a bath or—"
"No, no, I told you, I'm fine," You unintentionally cut off.
You weren't sure where the awkwardness had come from but it wasn't completely unwelcome since there was clearly something he wasn't telling you. You saw it in the way he pouted all grumpily just before looking at you.
Whatever was on his mind had to be eating him up on the inside.
Not that the frown pushed you to ask him anything else though. You ended up turning over and rolling off is bed a few minutes later to gather your things and leave, to which he'd peacefully helped you with.
Then Sato escorted you all the way out of his maze-like home and was "kind" enough to give you a kiss on the forehead before sending you off.
Little things like that always caught you off guard. Your heart would do that weird thing in your chest as you wondered if there was a possibility of experiencing more than just hook-ups with the man.
Though, reality is quick to slap you back to your senses when you see him with his arm around some other woman the next day while on your way to class.
You knew better than to get emotionally attached to Sato Gojo. Everyone did.
——
Some days later is when shit decides to hit the fan between you two.
It happens so randomly that you almost feel as though you dreamt the whole thing up. The day starting with him texting you to come over that night and somehow ending with you in thwarted tears.
In all the time you spent with Sato, there'd never been a moment where he was blatantly selfish. Something of which surprised you in the beginning of your relationship since he was known to be a fuckboy.
Yet, ending up in his bedroom for the nth time, as his thumb rubbed at your clit with unsteady, jerky motions, appearing otherwise annoyed about something—Sato had been selfish for the first time with you.
Foreplay was skipped entirely and you should've known something was up from that alone.
The most you got out of him prior to being stripped of your clothing was a messy kiss and a barely audible, "Need somethin' from you, baby," grunted into your mouth.
Then you were being carried all the way up to his bedroom, handled frustratedly down into the mattress, and soon fucked at a rate you weren't used to.
His thrusts were sloppy and needy, voice quiet since he didn't bother talking you through it or saying anything at all, and the only thing with a sense of normalcy to it was the way his thumb nudged over your clit as his cock dove in and out of you.
Midway through, you assumed he just had a bad day or something. Figured he wanted to take some of that stress out on you.
And that wasn't out of the ordinary for him, it's happened more often than not.
But as his thumb drew desperate circles around your twitching bud, Sato's cock twitched and he pulled out the moment you were about to cum. You were too dazed by his abrupt action that you nearly missed the way he stroked himself into finishing on your stomach and then scoffed. Bitterly.
Your eyes were glossed over since the taste of your own orgasm had been right there on the tip of your nerves, stripped away from you faster than you could blink.
Whatever had been bothering him about having sex with you was felt before it was understood.
He was already turning away by the time you pushed yourself to sit up, the sheets gliding down your arms as you watched him with wide, teary eyes. The room felt ten times quieter than it normally did. You saw how he crossed the room as if nothing had happened—as if this was just another unremarkable moment to be shrugged off.
"Sato," You say, his name tripping in your throat on the way out.
Only then did he pause, fingers curled around his drawer handle. Not sparing you a glance back, "What." he breathed out.
It was hardly even a response, more of a wall you'd audibly stumbled into. You'd never heard his voice so dull and flat with you.
Swallowing down whatever confusing emotions were building up in your throat, "Did I, um... did I do something wrong?"
Somehow that gets his attention. He glances back over his shoulder then, expression insipid and eyes casting over you all bored-like. "Don't start that," He said, irritation weaving into his voice, "You're overthinking shit already."
Your mouth opens to say something but it's like you'd been slapped in the face, leading your lips to seal shut for a second. His words were too heavy for you, coming off with weighted dismissiveness.
After a few beats, your words trail out slowly, "Sorry I'm a little confused, Sato. You asked me to come over for that..?"
He exhaled sharply, like the question itself had tired him, "What else do I ever call you over for?"
Something shrewd twisted in your chest, "Certainly not whatever the fuck that was just now."
Sato finally turned more fully and leaned back against his dresser, crossing his arms and letting his eyes meet yours firmly. "You sound upset."
"I feel used," You'd snapped back immediately.
His brow twitched, "'Cause I didn't make you cum?"
Again, the words came off blunt and careless.
Leading you to flinch internally, "I mean—yeah," You said as a humorless breath tiptoed out, "You normally do."
"Well, I didn't feel like it today. M'spent." He scoffed out.
It was almost as if that was supposed to be an explanation for everything.
You stared at him and felt the way your disbelief began to fade into something of anger, "You could've told me that."
"Would that have made you feel any better?" Every response came out of him like he'd rehearsed the entire conversation beforehand.
"We could've done something different," Your hands began to curl into the sheets a little, trying to steady yourself. "I could've-"
"I didn't want anything different." Sato cut off crisply.
You'd never been so utterly confused in your life. Everything was fine before this—for the most part—so what had come over him all of a sudden? Why was he acting like this?
The finality in his statement only made your stomach drop, your head shaking slowly in disbelief, "...So you wanted to use m-"
"No, sweetheart," The pet name sounds empty on his tongue, lacking its usual affection. "I wanted you to see how it feels to get into something thinking things are going to go like they always do, just to feel disappointed by the end."
The next sound that spreads throughout the room is your laughter as it exits you in incredulous fashion, "Sato, what the fuck are you talking about?"
He dragged a hand through the white tuffs of his hair, pacing only once before coming to a stop. "You..." Letting his words trail off, he released a long and stressed-out sigh, "Every woman I've been with has never had the problem you do."
That hits you square in the chest.
Head cocking back as you frown with immediate offense flaring over, "Excuse me? Are you... are you talking about squirting, Sato? You can't be serious."
"I am," He said without hesitation. "If it's just something you can't do, I'd rather you tell me than making me look like an idiot when we fuck."
"What?" Your eyes narrowed as your anger bled into something strictly hurt. "I... I'm sure I can. Maybe we're just doing something wro-"
"We?" Sato cuts you off instantly. Then his tone seemed firmer and you knew he didn't think things through when he said, "No, no, you've got shit backwards here. I can assure you I'm not doing anything wrong, that's all you."
Something inside you finally boiled over.
"All me?" You scoffed, pushing yourself out of the bed. The cold air wrapping itself around you felt like even more of a wake-up call than what he'd just said. "Oh, sorry for not being like all the other twenty girls you sleep with."
Grabbing your clothes with uncoordinated and janky movements after wiping away any lingering trace of what had happened, you subconsciously wished you could've erased the moment entirely from start to finish. Your hands trembled as you got dressed, seemingly more from the heated emotions waving through you than the embarrassment.
Sato stiffened upon hearing your words. For the first time—probably in his life—his confidence had cracked. "Shit—wait," He rushed out, trying to step towards you and stop you from leaving.
It was almost like he himself wasn't aware of how severely fucked up his actions and words were.
His hand reached out for your arm, "I-I didn't mean it like that, c'mon. I just—"
"Save it, asshole." You spat back at him, shoving his hand out the way and storming out his room before giving him a chance to say anything else.
He'd said more than enough to have your vision blurry and heart pounding in your chest as if pained.
The hallway was dim, your footsteps quickened to carry you as far away from him as possible, and your emotions buzzed all too loudly in your ears for you to think straight. You think you hear something clash against the wall back in Sato's room but you ignore it.
You're so wrapped up in your feelings that you're not even paying attention to where you're going. You only made it a few steps down the hall before you collided with something solid.
Someone solid.
Gasping as you stumble back, a pair of hands come up to steady you. "Ah, sorry," a voice hums out to you. The sound is soft as it reverberates throughout the hallway but your chest feels as though it's caving inwards since the guy in front of you sounded exactly like Sato.
There was a pitch of unfamiliarity in it, though. One that made you look up.
For a moment, you thought maybe you'd fallen off the bed earlier and that everything thus far had been some type of hallucination because surely Sato wasn't standing right in front of you right now.
...Except, with glasses? And a dorkier look in his eyes?
With the same snowy white hair, the same perfectly sharp jawline—that's somehow a tad softer—and the same dazzling blue eyes, he stared at you all longingly as if an angel had fallen right into his arms or something. The only difference between him and his brother being the black glasses sitting center on the bridge of his nose.
Despite the hallway's lack of lighting, you swear you see his cheeks flush with red as the moment of exchanged staring passes.
Prior to this, you'd only ever heard rumors of Sato having a twin brother but you never once imagined those would turn out to be true. The man's eyes widen slightly as he really looks at you, confusion flickering across his face whilst he takes in your flushed skin, the way your clothes are hanging off of you as though you'd rushed to put them all, and how your eyes are somberly glossed over.
"I-," You try to blink that wetness out of your gaze and then clear your throat. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."
"It's fine," He replies as he thoughtlessly continues to hold onto your arms. Then, uncertainly, "You're... Sato's, uh—"
"Sato's what?" You cut off harsher than you meant to.
There was no way he was about to refer to you as that asshole's girlfriend or anything like that, right?
His mouth visibly goes taut, realizing he was about to step into something fragile. Instead of responding, he just stands there awkwardly enough to piss you off even more.
Groaning, you push past him and continue storming down the hall. You didn't have time for whatever that was about to turn into.
Unbeknownst to you, he'd stood there and watched as you walked away—cursing himself out for letting his opportunity to talk to you pass him by like that. He'd known who you were for months prior to this. Out of all the women Sato brought over, you were the only one Toru took a genuine interest in.
It's unfortunate for him that Sato's a stingy asshole who doesn't care to introduce the two of you. Because of that, Toru had to go out of his way just to get glimpses of your personality.
He was always home when Sato brought you over, always in his room that's just one wall over while the two of you fucked—listening and secretly getting off to those gorgeous moans you let off. Toru knew it was perverted of him to do so, but he truly couldn't help himself.
Now here he is with sagging shoulders at the fact that he totally fucked up his first interaction with you.
He heard the whole argument between you and his brother and came out into the hallway hoping to come to your rescue or at least cheer you up, even if only for a second. Yet, all he managed to do was piss you off with his awkwardness and lack of confident social skills.
After a few minutes, Toru straightens up and settles his jaw in a way that says he'd made some type of silent decision. That wasn't going to be the last time he interacted with you—no matter how badly his brother fucked up—he knew you'd be back eventually.
As he turns back to his room, he promises to himself that next time he sees you, he won't hesitate or fumble things with you.
——
A few weeks pass before anything else noteworthy occurs.
In that time, things between you and Sato remain rocky, to say the utmost least. Conversations between the two of you were more careful, apologies came far slower than they should've, and some semblance of trust had been rebuilt in uneven steps.
Sometimes he was sweet and more attentive than he had been before that big argument, kinda like he was afraid it'd happen again. Other times he'd slip up and those old habits would seep through, any excuse he gave you dressed up charmingly enough for you to ultimately end up forgiving him again.
The fact that you both were trying had to be enough to count for something, otherwise the two of you were better off calling it quits months ago.
Somewhere in the middle of that relationship, Toru became familiar to you. You went out of your way to see him whenever you visited the Gojo estate, even if you were only there for Sato.
He was almost always cooped up in his room, drowning himself in his studies—textbooks stacked neatly on his desk, handwritten notes color-coded and meticulously organized.
It wasn't long before you realized he and his brother were complete opposites. Where Sato excelled in partying and socializing, Toru peaked in academics and hobbies that were far more niche.
You remember poking your head into his room one time to say hi and catching him lost in Digimon reruns with strategy guides pulled up on his nearby laptop. He was so engrossed in it that he hadn't even heard you saying something to him.
Situations like that are what got the two of you to be something close to friends.
Though, you still didn't know him any more than you knew Sato. You were still kept at an arm's length from either of their personalities beyond what was noticeable. Sato made sure of that where both he and his twin were concerned.
While he did soften up with you, he still wasn't interested in keeping you that close—not close enough to know him. And he damn sure wouldn't let you go off and try to find that in Toru.
Anytime you and the nerdier Gojo sibling were alone, Sato was intruding minutes later. Always interrupting.
Even when you ran into Toru on campus.
One time when you found him outside the library, standing near a vending machine and ran up to talk to him, Sato seemed to spawn out of thin air with his arm around you is if to silently tell his brother to fuck off.
You weren't sure what had gotten into him as far as that was concerned. He didn't care when you talked to anyone else.
This was but another unfortunate thing for you since you were quite fond of Toru. He remembered little things about you; your major, your favorite cafe, and even your preferred place to sit in lecture halls.
If you asked Sato questions about any of those things, he'd probably shrug and ask you why any of it matters in the first place.
But you bet that dick for brains could tell you which position makes you cum the fastest...
It's regrettably because of that as to why you're currently standing at the large front doors to his home, having rung the bell only a few seconds ago due to an earlier text requesting you come over.
In said text, Sato promised that he only wanted to talk to you and you chose to believe him.
Just for Toru to swing the door open with a surprised look on his face.
"Oh, hey." He began, pushing his glasses further up on his face so that he could get a proper look at you. "If you're looking for Sato, he's not here. I actually think he's been gone for the past three hours or so."
Disappointment settles into you and you roll your eyes, already annoyed. "Of course he has," You sigh.
Toru offers you a half-comforting grin before stepping back a bit and opening the door wider for you, "He'll probably be back soon though, if you wanna come in?"
You debated leaving but the prospect of being able to spend some alone time with Toru is what swayed you into staying.
Which is how you ended up in their living room.
The rest of the house was quieter than Sato ever allowed it to be. There was no music blaring, none of his restless pacing or constant yammering about fuck knows what. The only thing heard was the low hum of the TV ahead of you and Toru.
He'd put on a movie a few minutes ago and although you'd agreed to watch it with him, you kept glancing towards the front door hoping to see Sato walk in any moment now.
It never happens.
Sitting on the opposite ends of the couch, you and Toru are steady to find comfort in one another's presence. You eventually let yourself focus on what he'd put on, snorting whenever he laughed at the unfunniest bits of it and finding yourself mused by the easiness of it all.
You noticed how Toru also tried to sneak his eyes onto you here and there, lacking that smoothness his slightly older brother had and always catching your attention when he did it.
The two of you even shared those warm moments where you'd catch him staring and then whisper, "What, is something on my face?"
To which he'd swallow thickly and shake his head, "No, not at all. Sorry..."
His shyness is probably what drew you in the most about him. You loved how often he avoided eye contact with you, how gentle his voice always came out, and the way he'd begin to adjust himself against the couch due to the smallest of things.
The night was going well enough for you to forget all about—
Your phone rang and Sato's name was lighting up your screen.
At the sight, your shoulders went tense and you were unsure if you should answer it or not. Toru looked over at you but he didn't say anything.
The movie continued to play ahead as you picked up the phone and quietly spoke to Sato, "What?"
Whatever was said to you on the other end made your jaw clench—something of which Toru noted instantly. He didn't mean to be nosy but it was hard not to when minutes passed and you were clearly getting frustrated about your conversation.
"You sound drunk," You're heard muttering, making Toru's ears perk up and then strain to hear more.
Sato is just barely heard grumbling in response, "M'not drunk, baby."
Your shoulders slump, "Did you even mean to text me?"
There's a long pause. Toru tenses up and Sato's heard burping.
"I texted you?" The man on the phone asks, making your entire mood sink. "Hahhh, fuck. I don' remember doing that.. What uh, what'd I say?"
"You said you needed to talk." You reply rigidly.
He nods even though you can't see him, "Ah... I mean, I do need to talk to you but," Pausing to grumble, "Don't see why I didn't jus' call.. Anyway, s-so yesterday I was with this girl 'n she said m'not doin' anything wrong."
His early attempt at trying to convince you he wasn't drunk fell flat in that instant. You stare into space for a moment, "What?"
"Remember how we got into it about your squirting problem?" Sato blurts out in response.
You could feel yourself getting irritated with him all over again. You hated the way he said that like it was truly an issue on your end alone, even though the two of you have talked about it after the argument.
"My squirting problem? You mean the fact that you can't get me there?" You snapped back, matching his energy for just a second and unintentionally gaining the dull attention of his nosy brother.
At this point, you don't think you cared whether or not he overheard.
"No, no, I cannnn..." Sato drags out drunkenly. Then you hear this giggle in the background before he adds, "This girl told me it really is you 'n not me. Because like-"
You hang up the phone before he can continue.
The last thing you wanted to do was entertain whatever the fuck he was about to tell you for any longer than you had to. Your phone falls down into your lap and you feel it buzzing a few seconds later but you only swipe it back up to silence it entirely.
After which, the room falls into a thick quietness that swallows up both you and Toru. Even the movie playing ahead had switched to a soundless scene that only added to the shift in moods.
A few minutes of this stillness pass before you feel the weight on the other side of the couch shifting. Your eyes flick over and you see him readjusting himself in his seat.
You don't question it nor say anything but his sudden movements do manage to pull you out of your funk for a second. Ignoring it, you pick your phone back up to see that Sato had texted you a bunch of gibberish—the only sensible message you can make out being one of him begging you to text or call back.
As soon as you start typing, his twin decides to clear his throat again.
“I mean, it can’t be that hard.” Toru says all timidly, his words catching enough to snag your attention away from your phone.
Your thumb goes idle against the screen and you look up at him to see his cheeks colored over with bright red. He was looking off to his left and you could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his chest that his breathing had gone off-track.
Clearly, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
You chuckle as if intrigued by his words, humming, “Your brother said the same thing."
Toru scoffs and then speaks without thinking again, “He doesn’t care enough.”
Cocking a brow, “Doesn’t care enough to make me squirt?” You ask.
The sound of the man’s breath hitching was clearer than the dense tension between you both. “Obviously not,” Toru continues, lifting two slim fingers up to the center of his glasses to adjust them against his nose. “If he did, he would’ve made sure you… uh, did that.”
Never would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with the same man who can barely look you in the eye. But it was clear something had changed. Even in his body language, you saw how he'd sat up a bit straighter against the couch and let his legs sprawl out wider—almost invitingly so.
He was still avoiding your gaze but the sturdiness in his voice is what intrigued you the most.
“Did what, Toru? Say it,” You pressed, putting your phone down and turning on the couch to face him fully.
You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with the way he gulped thickly. “He would’ve uhm..." Toru pauses to take a deep breath—mentally reminding himself that he swore not to embarrass himself in front of you again—and then clears his throat one more time, "He would've made sure you squirted.”
Too shy to look at you just yet, he misses how the look in your eyes changes entirely. It was like seeing him in a new light.
Not that you hadn't thought about it before. He does look exactly like Sato and there's been a few times where you've wondered what it'd be like to be the cause of his glasses going crooked 'n foggy.
Biting back a smile, “Well, he makes me cum a lot.” You explain to him casually. Certainly Toru wouldn't have started talking to you about this if he didn't at least have some advice for you, “Like, back to back.”
He nods, nimble fingers fidgeting over one another in his lap, “Then, he just doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
You bat your lashes at him all cluelessly, “But—“
“As I said the first time,” Toru looks at you all of a sudden, his eyes mildly terrified behind his frames despite the attempt of confidence spreading over his face. There was a devilishly sexy blend of sureness and hesitancy plastered all over his features, “It can’t be that hard.”
The direct eye contact and few inches of space between where you two were sitting made everything feel hot all of a sudden. Blush melts itself into his skin again and it was clear that this initiated flirting of his was a first time thing.
You knew Toru found you intimidating and that subconsciously accepted fact only made you want to see more. More of your affect on him.
Sliding closer to him on the couch, your voice slyly dips into something more taunting, “You sound like you wanna try.”
Watching the way his jaw flexes, teeth tightly gritted within his mouth, and throat struggling to conceal the high-pitched sound that threatened to jump out of him—your affect on the man was as clear as day.
Somehow, Toru manages to maintain his confident facade, “Would you let me if I did?”
“Do you?” You ask quicker than he expects you to.
His head felt like it was spinning already. Is this what it's like to do drugs? Does his brother get to experience this all the time?
Toru gulps again, “Do I.. what?”
Now he was playing dumb on purpose, as if he wasn't the one who commenced this whole thing with his earlier statement.
Which makes you giggle, “You’re the smartest guy I know, Toru." Your compliment makes his heart skip a few beats. Then your head tilts and your tone softens, "Don’t start acting dumb just to appeal to me.”
He bats those pretty white lashes at you with his eyes all doe-like on you for a moment before he looks down, “I just… I wanted to hear you say it.”
You stand up from the couch all of a sudden and he freezes up. Then you walk over and stand right in between his legs, moving a hand to his chin and forcing his head up. “Do you wanna try making me squirt?”
Toru shakes his head and your brows furrow. His face nuzzles into your hand, forcing it to spread open as his cheek presses into your palm, “It’s not something to be tried, it’s just something I can do for you.” He explains.
Your thumb brushes against his cheek and his glasses slip down his nose a bit. Smiling, “Someone's confident.”
He merely whispers, “‘Can’t be that hard.”
——
Ten minutes later and you're wondering why he wasn't the first Gojo twin you met.
Loong fingers stretching your pussy out crudely, hot tongue attacking your clit like he wanted to lick you into numbness, and eyes still doe-like as they remain glued up on your face—Toru was nothing like his slightly older brother.
No, no, he aimed not only to please but to learn how you like to be pleased.
Whereas Sato would just sleep with you the same way he did with anyone else—beyond confident in his own abilities to bring a woman pleasure—Toru was the kinda man who took his time to work you up specifically.
“Taste s’good,” He praised in a tone deeper than you knew to be capable from him. You were laying across the couch now and he was stuffed neatly in between your legs. Whining, “More,” as he tugged at your thighs, his jaw going slack, and his mouth smearing against your cunt. “Gimme’ more—mmpfh. Please?"
You weren't sure what more he could be referring to when his fingertips were already twirling something sinful against your g-spot. You had a hand buried into his hair, your other behind you as you held onto the couch to steady yourself with the way he feasted on you as if your pussy was the best thing to wet up his tongue.
“Ah, T-Toru, fuck!” You cried out, unconsciously pulling away from him when his fingers focused in deep against that soppy spot—addicted to the way your slick gushed out around his hand and left a sweet mess against the couch.
His fingers leave your insides for only a second and a half before he's shoving them into his mouth to suck the taste off. Toru's eyes rolled back for a moment before he let both of his hands redirect to your inner thighs and then spread you out wider just so nothing was obstructing your view of the way he sloppily kissed your cunt.
Small strings of aroused filth would hang in between his mouth and your puffy pussylips, all of which would get licked off by his eager tongue before he dove back in for more.
Before you'd let him make his way down there, you recall the way he oh-so-awkwardly kissed you. He hardly had a clue what to do with his tongue when it was against yours but now that he was in between your legs, he became an entirely different person.
Suckling the dewy tastes into his mouth and guzzling it down his throat just to let it linger, Toru was nothing short of desperate to make you feel good. So much so that his brain practically turns off as he moves his hands to grip your hips and then lifts the lower half of your body up against his face.
His mouth nuzzled harder against you and you felt the wiggling tip of his tongue slap against your clenching walls. He softly humped the couch as he ate you out, letting the sounds of your moans coax him into giving you everything he could.
Toru only pulled away from your cunt when his glasses fogged up too much for him to see your face. And before you could offer to wipe them off or anything, you met his gaze with the way his head angled for you to do so.
His voice deep and aching, “Sit on my face,” He requested before whining again. “Pleasepleaseplease,” the man panted almost puppy-like and then seared his next words right into your clit with the edge of his tongue, “Need it s’bad.”
You don't think you had it anywhere in you to deny him when he was asking so nicely like that.
But by the time the two of you had flipped over and you were left hovering over his pleasantly flushed face—his shaky hands tight against your hips—you were a little too nervous to sit down.
Toru had caught his breath by now but nothing about his starved appetite had changed. Those previously soft blue eyes of his seemed to pierce straight through you in a way that Sato's sometimes would. You know they're twins and all but fuck, it was nerve-wracking to experience that hungry look from the alleged "shy" twin.
“Ride it," Toru husked out all of a sudden, giving your body the faintest pull.
Your eyes went all wide, “…Your mouth?”
Instead of clarifying things or being patient with you, he snatches your frame down with a strength you didn't know he possessed. Moaning before your core even reaches his lips again, “Want you to feed your pussy to me.”
Then he was practically suctioned to you again, eyes rolling back far enough for the whites to be visible beneath the foggy frames of his glasses.
“Ohfuck,” You cry out, the upper half of your body slumping forward a bit as your thighs squeeze around his head.
You felt the way Toru smiled at the feeling, almost like he was exactly where he'd wanted to be. His tongue skated up into you with a vigor you'd never felt before.
The man ate pussy like he wanted the results of your release plastered all over those pretty glasses of his, leaving him with sogged vision and a numbed tongue. It was yet another thing that made him so much different than his brother because although that man had stamina like no other and knew how to use his cock, he never once ate you out.
Meanwhile Toru couldn’t seem to get enough.
He even left a needy smack to your ass, encouraging you to do as he initially asked of you and ride his face. It wasn’t until his tongue was constantly plunging past your glissading folds that you unconsciously rolled your hips forward and earned a whimper from him in response.
Then the hands on your hips began to tug at you again, not even begging you for more but demanding it now.
You could no longer focus on the way he looked with splashes of your slick spread out on his glasses in nasty droplets since the tip of his nose had bumped up against your clit, and his jaw went slack just to adhere to your drooling nerves.
The sensation made your entire body flinch, but he wouldn’t let you pull up. For the nth time, you were stunned by Toru’s strength.
His tongue was thick and gathering against your pussy, not letting a singular drop of your taste escape his mouth until something light ghosted out of you.
“S-Something feels-, nngh,” Your struggles were just the cutest thing. “Different.” You tried to warn him.
His head tilted slightly and you felt his lips curve against you again as he smiled knowingly. Plucking his mouth away from you for the first time in forever with a wet pop!, Toru let his warm breath pat your quivering hole as he whispered, “It’s supposed to feel different, sweet girl. That’s what happens when you come to the right twin.”
Cocky. You never knew Toru had that in him—must be a trait that runs into family.
Except, it’s not like he was wrong. Once he lathered his tongue back in and sucked on your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane, you felt that coiling burn building up inside you. You knew you were gonna squirt despite never experiencing it before.
But it felt like too much, made you feel dirty as you neared that shattering edge. So much so that you tried so hard to snatch yourself away from Toru, whining excessively only for each sound to fall on completely deaf ears.
Your legs had clamped around his head so tight that he was getting lightheaded from his lack of oxygen—not that he cared. He had one singular goal and nothing was gonna stop him from reaching it.
It wasn’t long before it happened as his complimenting moans turned into graveling groans. The sounds vibrated against your pussy and you were tongue-fucked right into something blissful. Bleary white streaks coated your vision and you think you would’ve fallen over if not for the mean grasp he had on you.
Toru had done it, he managed to make you squirt.
By the time your brain feels like it’s functioning enough to hold a conversation, you let your vision come back to you and look down to see his soaked face.
His eyes are dazed whilst they peer up at you, appreciation swirling through his pupils. Those same glasses you’ve managed to squirt over are now crooked and you wonder if that’s from the way you unconsciously started rutting your hips forward just a few minutes ago.
Toru didn’t do anything but pant heavily—his breath stuttering here and there due to how long he went without breathing properly. When he finds the energy to send you another boyish grin, you feel a wave of embarrassment flutter over.
“Shit,” You huff, slowly moving from over his face and then grabbing his glasses.
With his face revealed, you saw how unfairly pretty he was with content written into his skin.
Then he chuckles softly, “You don’t have t’clean those.” Toru tells you, tone mumbled.
You were trying to wipe his glasses off with your shirt but he’d moved his hand to your wrist to stop you.
“I like the mess,” he added.
After which you’re stuck staring at him while he takes the wet glasses out of your hand and puts them back on his face. Surely there’s some hygienic concerns to take into consideration here but he’s not at all worrying about that right now.
Not with the painfully hard cock he’s got twitching in between his legs.
He wasn’t gonna tell you out of fear you’d assume he was some kinda loser (he is) but, not only did he cum half-way through eating you out, he also got hard again when that messy stream came pouring out of you.
Toru’s never made a woman squirt before but he did study enough videos to—clearly—figure out how it’s done. He didn’t think it would work so easily with you since all he had to use was his tongue but considering the way you just-
“Can you do that again?” Your voice hits his ears all of a sudden and his eyes widen.
“W-What?” Toru chokes, “You uh, you want me to make you squirt again?”
You nod and then move to sit back a little, not exactly in his lap but still close enough for your body heat to mingle. Your finger trails down the center of his torso slowly as you speak, “It felt really good. I wanna do it again,” You requested almost innocently. “But, on your cock this time.”
He doesn’t know how he managed not to cum at the sound of that.
Toru knew you were bold, he knew you could be a bit of a ditz at time, but fuck—did you have any idea of the things you were asking for sometimes?
Mustering up that faux confidence from before, he leans up and hums. “Alright, yeah… I can do that.” He thinks. Not that he’ll admit his lack of assuredness to you though. His hands simply move against your body and you hardly realize what’s going on until he’s swooped you up in his arms. “But not here.”
You blink dumbfoundedly, “Why not?”
“I have a better idea.”
——
When he said that, you didn’t think the better idea in question would be having sex in his brother’s room.
You recognized the path there as Toru carried you, felt the familiarity when he laid you down on the bed, and smelled the same scent of Sato lingering around even as Toru tried to distract you with kisses.
It seemed to be surprise after surprise with this man.
“I think after all the times I’ve had to hear the two of you fuck,” Toru’s hands were running down your body—his touch smoother than his brother’s ever were. “It’s only fair that I make you squirt in the same place he never could, right?”
Too many thoughts of sin swirled in your head for you to answer that properly so all you did was nod your head again. Which was yet another thing he found cute.
It’s no wonder Sato kept you to himself all this time.
That realization becomes even clearer by the time Toru’s got his cock freed from his clothing, his pinkish tip dribbling precum down onto your cunt while he gapes at the sight.
With his clothes all gone, you realized that he’d been hiding a ripped body under all those baggy, nerdy-branded tees he wore. His muscles would flex without him even trying and he didn’t even notice how badly you were drooling over him until he stopped looking at your weeping hole and remembered to redirect his gaze up.
Seeing how you’re staring at his abs like you wanted to take a bite out of him, he leaned all the way up and allowed himself to be on full display for you. His cock bobbed with its hardness due to the way you admired him.
He was only reminded again that his brother got this time and time again and was too selfish to share.
What an asshole.
Toru scoffed and let his head cock to the left, peaking down at his length still hanging over your lower abdomen. “Hm,” His hand moved and he began to measure himself in comparison to how deep inside you he’d be within the next few minutes—hand stopping only a few inches short of your belly button. “Does he reach this far?”
You flinched out of your gawking thoughts and moved your attention to where his hand was, gasping at the debauched sight in between your legs.
Truth be told, the fact that they were twins clearly applied to every inch of their bodies. But if you looked hard enough, you could notice that Sato’s is a bit longer while Toru’s has that veining thickness.
To avoid making the man jealous, you shrug and make eye contact with him again, “Put it in and find out.”
Toru laughs dryly and you throb. Something had changed from before. His shyness seemed like it hid itself away considering there was nothing shy about how he wrapped his hand around his cock and then let it slap slap slap! against your swollen folds.
Your body twitched at each slap but what caught his attention most is how your cunt salivated with each one.
“Huh. I think I figured it out,” Toru breathed, his glasses slipping a bit.
Then he guides his dick up to swab around your clit for a couple seconds just to see the way your hips instantly squirm up for more. The smile that drags out across his face is chillingly close to the one Sato wears while he fucks you.
“There it is,” Toru whispers, hauling his cock down and letting his plump tip poke against your hole to feel you clench, and then slide back. “That’s what you like. You like being teased.”
You were so needy that you felt your slick wetly sliding down your skin to pool beneath you, “N-No, I just—“
“Shhh, focus on how this feels, pretty girl.” He instructs. All the shakiness you normally heard in his speech was gone and replaced with something sinfully commanding—yearning only to teach you true pleasure. “See how my cock keeps slipping out? Mmgh,” He repeated his action from before and your hips bucked for more this time, making him huff. “Don’t you want it inside you sooo badly?”
Your hand reached down for him, trying your damndest to angle him into you, “I do. Toru please,” You pleaded delightfully.
His naturally submissive nature leads him to slip an inch in but the dewy warmth of your pussy makes him let out a stuttered gasp. Then he lets his cock slop right out of you with another ringing sound of filth spurring out into the air. His deft cockhead thwacks at your quivering hole again and your eyes roll back.
"Say that again." Toru grunts, slapping your parted folds with his cock again to emphasize his words, "Beg me for it."
Your back arches up off the bed this time and you’ve got the prettiest look of desperation on your face, "Mnh, please?"
Fuck. He was not strong enough to drag this out any longer.
Nor was he reader for how welcoming your cunt is for him. Swallowing him in inch by stretching inch, Toru’s left with a slacked jaw as he finally slides into you. Choking on his own breath, “O-Ohh… Oh fuck.” he pants, “You’re so wet. F-Fuck, were you always this wet? Shit..”
You let off a pleasant string of moans that make his cock twitch wildly inside you before he even makes it halfway in.
Managing a short breath, you smile up at him, “Didn’t know you could curse s’much, Toru.”
He knew right then and there he was fucked.
“G-Gonna cum,” He whimpers as he drops his face down into your neck. The singular utterance of his name is what did it for him.
You thought he was just being dramatic but when you feel velvety ropes of creamy cum flooding into you followed by his throaty grunts against the crook of your neck, you realize he was being everything but.
The man could barely move his hips and all he had to offer you was thick loads in sporadic spurts and whiny groans.
By the time you feel his cum escaping where the two of you are still connected, you’re slow to snort, “…Toru?”
“Shit,” He gasps immediately, “Shitshitshit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to cum,” His head flies up, white hairs sticking to his forehead from sweat and eyes all wide and apologetic on yours, “I just-, you felt so good. I couldn’t-, fuck. I’m—“
“It’s okay,” You giggle, moving your hands to cup his face, “Just keep goin’.”
“But-,” His eyes travel back and forth between your own as he continues to stare. It takes Toru a long moment to realize he’s… still hard.
With a breathless oh tumbling out of his kiss-bitten lips, he rolls his hips forward and pushes his cum deeper into you as a creamy squelch rings out. “O-Ohh, fuck. That sounds s’nasty...” He murmurs, arousal decorating his expression from the sound.
“Mhm,” You whir, tugging him down to kiss you.
If Sato had good stamina then, as twins, Toru should too, right?
A very intimate mess of his hips rocking down into you carries on with your lips sliding over one another. Unlike his older sibling who typically fucked like his every thrust guaranteed pleasure (it did), Toru moved inside you in the same way his mouth moved over yours—awkward but careful.
The streeeetch from his cock definitely made up for his lack of hurried strokes since his steady pace forced you to feel every prodding inch.
He may not have lasted long inside you without cumming but he was able to bring you to an orgasm of your own, whispering things into your mouth about how perfect you were—how his brother never deserved any of this.
It made your heart feel heavy and your cunt sloppily sang around his cock up until the sound of something dropping made you both gasp.
“What the fuck.” Sato’s voice was heard seething, having dropped the bag he had hanging off of his shoulder.
When Toru pulls away from you and glances back, you manage to move your head enough to catch a glimpse of how Sato stuck was staring at the way his twin steadily fucking you to gentle tears.
“S-Sato,” You sputtered out, suddenly feeling Toru’s hand move to press down your lower abdomen—tightening the pressure around his cock and making him feel impossibly bigger inside you. “Ohmygod-,” Both men heard the way you choked, “M’gonna cum.”
Only to be interrupted by Toru scoffing, "Not yet. Someone has to teach this guy how to make you squirt, right?"
“No one has to teach me shit,” Sato argued as he fully entered his bedroom.
What a sight—his own brother fucking his favorite girl. Sato never thought he’d see the day, honestly.
Hell, he didn’t even know what to say. The sight of you two wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Toru had his face so it was like seeing himself fuck you. But, y’know, with glasses…
“Clearly someone does,” Toru’s delayed response came after he’d tugged his cock out of you, watching his cum sap out and soil his brother’s bedsheets. “Especially if I was able to do it.”
Rolling his eyes, “Bullshit.” Sato spat without letting his brother’s words register properly. When they finally do, an appalled expression colors over him, “Wait, what? No way, show me.”
Toru moves a hand to scratch the back of his neck, looking off to the side dorkishly, “Uh, we didn’t record it or anything–”
“No, I mean do it again, four eyes.” His older brother clarifies rudely.
You sit up at that. Glancing back and forth between the two for a moment and then settling your eyes onto Sato, “What?”
“I don’t believe him,” Sato huffs as comes to sit on the edge of his bed. Throwing his eyes onto you, “So, if he really made you squirt then surely he has no issue doing it again.”
You blink. “You want him to do that in front of you?”
“I want to see you squirt, period,” He admits, “I don’t care who gets it outta’ you at this point.”
You and Toru then exchange glances before looking at him.
“Well?” Sato scoffs. “If you’re gonna go out of your way to fuck in my bed, don’t stop now that I’m here. Put on a fuckin’ show for me.”
Ever so demanding he was…
——
Not that you or Toru seemed to care.
The next position you end up in is rather… precarious, to say the least.
You thought you were left stretched before but that feeling was utterly pale in comparison to what you felt now. Toru had you bouncing up and down his heavy cock, letting it talk you through every pummeling thrust by leaving sweltering smooches against the deepest crevices of your cunt.
Your maw was left to dangle open and you looked like a true slut in the eyes of the Gojo twins. As one fucked you beyond dumb, the other was sat in front of you with his hands wrapped around his shaft, his palm running up and down that wildly long cock of his as sticky precum glistened out from his tip.
Drool and spit trickled all down your jaw and fell onto the floor below and you couldn’t move in any way to escape Toru’s desperate thrusts.
The sound of sweaty skin slacking and clashing against one another echoed through Sato’s large bedroom whilst he watched and got off to the sight.
Your arms and legs were locked firmly in Toru’s grip and he was just using your pussy to satisfy that swollen ache he’d been dealing with for fuck knows how long now.
The remnants of his cum sobbed downwards and left a messy ring around his base, the pearly color nearly mocking the white happy trail of hair he had.
"Tighter-, hahh.. squeeze around me tighter, please." Toru muttered into your ear, having found himself pussydrunk and slopped. The walls of your pussy narrowed around him and his hips snapped up a little faster, "Good girl, just like that. F-Fuuck... you're gonna make me c-cum." Toru whimpered.
A singular gasp of, "Inside.” from your horribly sore throat makes both him and his brother groan.
"Again? Shiit," Toru sent a bragging smile ahead before bucking his hips up into you faster as if to prove a point. Still talking into your ear, "Y'want me to breed you in front of Sato? Damn, you're sluttier than I thought you'd be."
You feel his weighty balls pounding up against your skin as his cock bullied in deeper, your pussy stretched into the prettiest shape and molded perfectly around him.
Sato couldn’t take his eyes off the errotic sight and his hand moved faster, his own hips thrusting up as he reminisced on that feeling of positioning into you. The man swears he could feel you wrapped around him just from watching his brother handle you.
It was so different to see things from this perspective but fuck was it sexy. Your tits bounced as Toru dragged you up up upp and then let his hips meet you halfway with a needy thrust as he let your body come back down.
"Mmngh, Toru!" You moaned softly.
To which his teeth nipped at your ear, "It's so cute when you say my name like that," He huffs, "Do you like me that much? Hm? Like the way Toru treats this pussy?"
You weakly moved your head in agreement, tears running down your cheeks, "Uhuhh… f-fuuuck, Toru. M’cummin.”
His movements grew faster then, ruder. The plump crown of his cock mashed into that sweet spot of yours over and over and over as if to make the spot his new home—imprint himself there permanently.
Breathing all heavy against you, “S’okay, let it out, sweetheart. Show him what he should be making you do, yeah?”
Sato cums a split second before it actually happens, based on the fact that it was about to happen. Thank god you were too drunk to see it because he’s watching with teary eyes as you squirt all over Toru—his dick slipping out of you because of it and the mess spraying ahead filthily.
Your pussy quivers from the release and you’re whining all through it, the cooing sound of Toru whispering you through your high prominence in your ear. You could barely think, barely breathe because of the intensity of it all.
When you calm down from it, Toru’s still got you in his arms and all you’re left to focus on is Sato’s pouty face as he continues to stroke himself.
“Well, fuck. Look at you,” He spoke hoarsely the moment he noticed your attention on him, his head resting back against his headboard, “Just a whore for some Gojo cock, huh?”
Your head barely bobs in response—far too dazed to answer that with a properly functioning brain.
Sato’s hand squeezes around his tip and his brows furrow, “Yeahhh? Y’liked watching me jerk off like some pathetic loser while I let my brother fuck you?” He hardly waited for another answer out of you before nodding his chin, “Bet you do. Look at that pussy, so fuckin’ wet from this.”
Toru’s easing you down on the bed in between the both of them, puffing, “Unfair of you to keep her all to yourself, Sato.”
Keeping things simple, “I’m willing to share now.”
…
Things should have ended there. Seriously.
But, allas, the hold these two have over you appeared to be much stronger than you thought.
“Wrap those lips around me, baby.” Sato had requested, watching your shaky limbs move in between his legs.
Toru was somewhere behind you, diving his face back into your cunt to… clean the mess he left in there, apparently.
Out of both of them, Toru was definitely the more perverted one—currently eating his own cum out of your cunt after giving you some bullshit excuse about wanting to keep you clean.
All he wanted was to stick his tongue inside you again. You weren’t that dumb.
While you gathered Sato’s cock into your palm and let your lips press into his tip, he hissed as his face twisted up due to sensitivity. Easing a hand onto your head, “Atta girl. Choke on this dick while he cleans you up. Wanna see every inch down that throat.”
His words never failed to leave your cunt soused, a physical reaction of which met Toru’s compliant tongue.
Sato’s bed was a mess of all sorts of fluids—overly due for a washing after all that had taken place thus far. His cock was somewhere in the back of your throat and he felt your moans tremble against him whenever Toru slurped against you just right.
The three of you were lazy with everything by now and the only thing that made the Gojo siblings perk up was when you ended up gifting Toru’s mouth with another raining mess.
Oh, Sato was in awe at the sight all over again. So much so that it’s what caused his next orgasm. He was so dazed by your squirting that he didn’t even bother to ask you to swallow what he’d just unconsciously thrusted into your throat.
Normally that’s his favorite part; watching or asking you to swallow his seed. Yet, he’d missed all of that because seeing his brother’s face smothered in your wetness left him shocked.
“Ohhh, shit. That was more than the first time.” Toru said as he finally pulled himself from in between your legs.
Sato’s ears twitch and he cocks a brow. Daze broke completely, “First time?” he asked. It was clear he still didn’t believe that his geeky, clumsy, and overall awkward sibling made that happen before he walked in.
Toru looks at his brother, “Yeah… More than the first time she squirted.”
Sato stares. “You… You made her squirt before I got here?” Disbelief was evident in his tone.
He chuckles, “You asked me that like it’s hard or something, of course I did.”
You pull yourself up from Sato’s softening cock just in time and give the two slow blinks while transferring your gaze back and forth. Sleepiness wasn’t slow to overcome you.
Sato met your eyes with his pointed ones and puffed all brat-like, “Soooo… you’re gonna do that for only me next time, right?”
There’s not a singular thought inside your head as you blatantly ignore him. Then, you turn over and plop onto the bed to lay down—back facing the two of them.
“Hello?” Sato taps your shoulder and then jokingly adds a comedic, “Chat, am I muted…?”
Toru snorts with a shake of his head, getting out the bed to start cleaning up the mess you three collectively made within the past few hours.
Then, you’re wondering if the roles had reversed for a second when he grumbles, “Fuckin’ loser…”
synopsis: your culinary classes were a little bit brighter with your classmate mingyu. his dishes were some of the best you've tasted, and it didn't help he was so handsome, kind and endearing. you hope by proposing a night of cooking together in preparation for your finals you can get a taste— not just of his cooking, but something a bit more satisfying.
tags: chef!mingyu, culinary student gyu, pwp, like 2 seconds of plot here, smut mdni!!! size kink, kitchen sex, fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, big dick mingyu 🤓, ateez wooyoung mentioned briefly
fic 2/13 of the svt diamond records series.
note: second installment of the series is here and sorry (not) for this one.. this is just pure filth w a touch of plot. this is how mingyu gets us.. once again, playlist is perfectly in tune w the storyline, as is the theme of the series! thank u to my favs @belovedgyu @cherrymayz @livmarauder for being my betas this fic <3
now in rotation: taste - snoh aalegra | kiss it better - rihanna | tastes so good - sabrina claudio | tio - zayn |
dividers by @cafekitsune
Your seat mate has to be the finest man you've laid eyes on. You go to a culinary school, but the hottest thing in that kitchen is Kim Mingyu. His white chef coat is always so tight around his stupidly perfect build, causing your brain to short circuit whenever he's busy stirring— arms on full display and flexing.
You swear, you're going to end up burning a dish if you spent any more time staring at him again. How he doesn't catch you is a mystery. You would ogle him every time you talked, but a man who looked like that had to be used to it.
You're stressing over finals coming up, knowing you have to create a unique dish for the head chef to taste. You have free reign on your work— it can be a dessert, side dish or main entree as long as it has uniqueness and is well done. Your head chef doesn't want twenty spaghetti dishes; she wants to see originality.
Between you and Mingyu, no one else stood a chance to bag the top position. Everyone complimented your dishes whether you worked together or solo, your tastes complimenting each other. You are a great team and know how to cook up an original recipe with ease.
When you propose the idea for Mingyu to come to your apartment in a few days with some dishes he wanted to cook for the final, he wastes no time to agree.
"Sounds fun! I have a few recipes I've been dying to try I think you'd like. I'll stop by the grocery store and you tell me what you need."
"Oh no, it's okay Mingyu! I was planning on getting my own things you don't have to!" You wave your hands frantically, not wanting him to spend money on you. He waves you off with a hand, swearing he didn't mind.
"Don't even worry about it. You're letting me use your place to cook, that's good enough!" You try arguing but he wasn't going for it, a goofy grin on his face as he shakes his head, arms crossed.
He was absolutely adorable, like a kid trapped in a 6'2 buff guy’s body.
You agree to cook together in three days on Friday, your final being on the following Tuesday.
The rest of the week you're giddy, mind racing over the thought of having Mingyu in your house. That man is meticulous about his food and you've made sure your kitchen is stocked with any utensils and ingredients that may be needed.
By the time Friday rolls around, you have already deep cleaned your house and kitchen. You were feeling a little delusional and made sure your bedroom was straightened up as well. You know, in case you had to cook in the bed…
You settle on looking nice but not overly dressed up. If you wore a mini skirt bending over in your oven, you knew you'd be trying a little too hard. A pair of flowy black pants that framed your body nicely and a tight fitting tank top made do, your hair clipped back out of your face cutely.
The sound of your doorbell makes you jump, nerves spiking as you open the door for your classmate, his arms full of grocery bags as he greets you cheerfully.
"Thank you for allowing me in!" He grins, his large arms wrapped around paper grocery bags as he refuses to let you take them, kicking his shoes off and entering your kitchen.
"Oouuu, nice kitchen! This is perfect." He hums an approval as you both dig through the bags, pulling out the ingredients for various recipes.
He plans on making a dish with sautéed duck, and another with stir fried vegetables and salmon. Your mouth practically waters as he shares his lineup, turning on the stove and oiling pans.
"What were you planning on making?" You help him carefully dice vegetables and herbs as he works on the main course.
"Honestly, I was thinking the dessert route. I have a oreo cheesecake and pumpkin tiramisu I wanted to work on."
You glance at Mingyu who stops dead in his tracks. The look on his face is hilarious, as you can practically see him planning on stealing the whole pan.
"Those sound crazy! I can't wait to have a taste."
He hums, a lazy smile on his face when he turns back to seasoning the duck breasts.
He asks a million questions about yourself; things that you typically didn't have time to discuss during your classes. You discover that he likes to sing, though he swears he's too shy to full on sing around you. You catch him quietly humming along to a few songs you play as he cooks, bringing a smile to your face.
You work around each other, asking one another to taste the first batches, checking if more seasoning or sugar is required. Your cheesecake goes in as Mingyu plates the sautéed duck, urging you to hurry and get a bite.
"Take a sip of this wine after, it pairs so well together." He insists, a satisfied look on his face after a hefty bite. You take the fork he offered and pick up a piece with his watchful eyes on you.
"Oh my god Mingyu.." You nearly moan out, the flavors of the dish standing out as you close your eyes and nod your head in approval. "This is insanely good!"
You look back at him, his eyes lingering on your face while he sipped on his glass. His gaze is heavy, suddenly making you overly aware of yourself. You pick up your own glass and note how the blend of flavors paired together.
"You weren't lying about the wine.." You shyly mumble, gaze settled on his tanned arms.
He calls your name, catching your attention as you tilt your head in anticipation.
"Did you really want to just cook tonight?"
Your stomach drops as you fight to keep your expression neutral. How could he just so casually drop that like nothing?
You turn back around to your tiramisu, ignoring his question while you slide it in the fridge so it can form properly.
"I'm going to take that as no since you didn't respond."
The smirk on his face is teasing, his tall frame leaning against your counter as he sizes you up from afar.
"I don't know what you mean? We can watch a movie and eat your dishes after we finish if you like?" You suggest, hands fumbling with a thread on your tank top.
"Right…"
"Mingyu, what are you impl-"
"I know how you feel about me."
You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to make eye contact with him. Mingyu was already looking gently down at you, though his eyes gleamed mischievously.
"I overheard you and Wooyoung talking on facetime a few weeks ago.. Something about how 'big Mingyu is,' and that you'd like to 'see what else was big on him?'"
You want to die on the spot from humiliation.
"I- I- that… that was a joke."
"There's some truth behind every joke!" He smiles playfully, not seeming bothered by your loud mouth best friend getting you caught up. Wooyoung really needed to invest in some headphones in public.
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, I think you're hot."
This man was so forward it was throwing you extremely off what little game you thought you had.
"Mingyu… just finish up your salmon." He laughs, shaking his head as he reaches around you. He boxes you in momentarily, his clean scent hitting your nostrils as he grabs the glazed salmon and vegetables.
"Wow… You really short circuit when you're around me huh?" You scoff, smacking his arm. "I finished this like.. fifteen minutes ago."
You hated admitting he was right, you were too focused on staring at his broad back at the stove that you didn't realize he finished up with the dish.
"Well let me try some then!"
You cross your arms over your chest. He grabs the same fork you were using, chopping off a bite and guiding the piece to your mouth.
"C'mon, open."
You obey, allowing him to feed you a bite of glazed salmon and carrot, his hand under your chin in case anything dropped. You hum in approval, licking your lips after to clean the small drop of glaze from there.
"You truly are skilled in the kitchen Kim Mingyu." He grins widely at that, enjoying your praises.
"Wanna find out how skilled I am at other things?"
"Now you're just making fun of me!" You groan, his laughter echoing in the kitchen.
"Nonsense, I'm serious babe." The use of the petname shifts something in you, his gaze suddenly burning like fire through you.
"Seriously, stop messing with me Mingyu. I'm sure you've called three other girls babe this week."
He gasps dramatically, hand coming over his heart in false outrage. You roll your eyes playfully as he reaches out for you with his free hand.
"I could never cheat on my favorite cooking partner. Nobody else in that class has anything on you!" His puppy-like eyes plead with you, a pout on his lips.
You will not fold, you will not fold, you will not fold-
"You have something on your lip."
You reach to wipe your finger across the plump skin before Mingyu pulls your hand away, leaning down to catch your lips against his own.
His lips move feverishly against yours, a strong hand planted at the back of your neck to hold you in place. You feel your knees go to jelly as your brain struggled to keep up with the fact your crush was making out with you. In the middle of your kitchen.
His tongue swiped along the skin of your lips, biting on the bottom lip with a soft tug. You gasp, hands planted firm on his well built chest.
"I think I got it." He smirks down at you, clearly proud with his actions.
"Are you sure? Might have gotten some on your own now." Your teasing smirk grows on your face, the energy in the room completely electrified now. He puffs out a laugh, bending back down to kiss you once more.
His large hands slide to your hips, leading you to the counter directly behind you. They roam down to your ass, giving a hard squeeze there, before he lifts you up. Setting you down on the counter, he steps in between your legs, guiding them farther open with a nudge of his thigh.
His waist is directly level with the counter; an advantage of his height. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms tangling around his neck.
He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you from how sloppy the kiss had gotten. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, as your fingers glide through his light brown locks.
"Shit, Mingyu the cheesecake is still in there!" You remember frantically, out of breath and trembling from his attack on your lips and neck.
He breaks away for a moment to step towards the oven, pulling out the perfectly golden cheesecake with a mitt. Any longer and it would've definitely burned. He turns the oven off and throws the mitt on the opposite counter, making his way back towards you.
"Now that there's no distractions, let's see just how 'big Mingyu is?'" He teases, hands sliding under your shirt, reaching your uncovered breasts with an eyebrow raise.
"I hate bras."
"I do too."
He yanks the fabric over your head, top half bare as the cold air causes your nipples to harden instantly. His trail of kisses lead down your neck, descending towards your boobs. He reaches for the left one, slowly sucking on the nipple there while his hand tweaks the other with a sharp pinch.
You throw your head back, moaning out in pleasure as he continues his assault on your breasts, stimulating the buds there to the point you felt delirious. His unoccupied hand trails down to your pants and gives a tug, wanting you to lift your hips for him. You comply, shifting up a bit as he slides your flared pants and underwear off.
You spread out, fully bare for him on your counter, suddenly feeling insecure at his full attention.
"God, you're beautiful. I need to admire you just like those little cakes you make." Your cheeks heat up as he kisses all along your body, hands busy as nothing is left untouched by Mingyu.
His hands make their way to your center, pulling your thighs apart just as much as he wanted while you stare down at him. Your chest is heaving and he hasn't even touched you yet.
"Gyu… Please…" You whimper, finally growing impatient.
"So needy.. haven't even gotten my hands on you yet." He clicks his tongue, strong fingers gliding up and down your plush thighs. You whine eagerly, reaching out for him.
"Patience." He grazes your clit with his thumb, sending a shock through you as you jolt unexpectedly.
He chuckles at your reaction, a long finger breaching through your aching cunt. You take his finger easily, already soaked just from making out, as you sigh. He pushes a second finger in, curling up to hit the spot you desired.
"Look at you, taking me so easily." He hums, his gaze locked onto your pussy as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, moans spilling from your lips.
He kisses you again, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing as he works you open with his fingers. His lips swallowed up your moans as you grind down into his fingers, desperate to relieve that ache between your thighs.
Mingyu picks up his pace, thumb rubbing circles along your clit as a third finger fills you, his pace ruthless. You spasm around him, crying out desperately as you feel the coil inside you get tighter, and your orgasm approaching.
"Gyu! Fuck!"
His lips are hot and searing as he works his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting along the skin there. You're a mess under him, your juices leaking down his hand as your head rests back on the cabinet behind for support.
His long fingers stretched you sinfully, his thumb gliding across your clit with ease from your wetness. You feel the peak of your climax approaching, a familiar sensation building in your lower core.
"Cum all over my fingers, give it to me baby." He whispers hot against your ear, your grip on his bicep tight as his words push you over the edge. Your whole body shakes as your orgasm hits you intensely. You see stars while Mingyu helps you ride through it, swirling his finger on your sensitive clit.
"That was so hot," He slides his fingers out of you with a squelch, bringing them to his mouth for a taste as you catch your breath.
"You're insane, oh my god…" Your head lulls forward onto his shoulder as he chuckles. He grabs at your cheeks, pulling your face back up towards his. He kisses you slowly, a hand resting on your still trembling thigh. You slide a hand down towards his length straining in his pants and you nearly gasp into his mouth.
From the outline of it alone, you could tell he was going to absolutely wreck you.
"Mingyu… I'm gonna need you to fuck me now, genuinely quit playing." You run your fingers along the waistband of his jeans, sliding a finger past the band into his boxers.
He groans as you hold him, hot and heavy in your hand and you feel a fresh wave of arousal gush from your legs. You want him so bad, desperately helping him unbutton his pants and tug them down. He steps out of his jeans and boxers, thick cock on full display and you whimper at the sight.
"Does it meet your expectations miss?" He jokes, stroking himself a few times while you nod frantically.
"Shattered them, actually."
You both laugh, a break in the lust filled tension.
He slid you forward, hips directly level with the counter. The tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, both of you groaning from the contact.
"I hope I prepped you enough.. If you ever want me to stop, please tell me to." Mingyu's gaze is serious, not wanting to hurt you at all.
"Gyu, you'll have to pry me off of you at this point now." He laughs, readying himself to enter you.
He pushes in slowly, breathing heavy, as inch by inch, he slides in. Your eyes screw shut, nails digging into his biceps as his thick length buries further into your cunt.
"Doing so well baby, you take me so well." Mingyu sighs as he pushes all the way in. He rests his forehead against yours, giving you a moment to get adjusted to his size.
"I'm okay… need you… to move now." You moan out, swirling your hips in desperation.
His hips begin to move slowly, thick cock gliding in and out of you with ease. He stretches you out, a whiny moan leaving you from the slow drag of him filling you up.
His rhythm remains steady, careful to not get too ahead of himself while you grip down on him dangerously tight. You feel every vein from each rough drag of his cock through your throbbing walls.
"Need more Gyu!" You cry out, wanting his pace to quicken as you try to meet his thrusts.
Mingyu drunk up every one of your sounds, the sight in front of him going to his dick with every moan and gasp you let out.
"So needy for me." He lifts you up, bouncing you on his cock. His arms are supporting you, all his hours in the gym paying off as he fucks up into you, the sound of skin slapping filling your ears.
He's rough, his hands gripping you so tight, you know there will be marks in the morning. The counter dugs into your thighs while Mingyu thrusts into you, your pussy leaking all down his cock with a vulgar squelch.
His groans are music to your ears as you slide a hand down to rub circles on your clit, in search of your second climax of the night.
He sat you back on the counter, the change in angles making his cock bury deeper inside of you with a loud moan. You were mumbling gibberish, drunk on the feel of his big dick pounding into you, and his strong arms wrapped tight around you.
"Gyu, I'm so close… oh!" His hand grips your neck suddenly, squeezing at the sides. The hand on your neck helps keep you in place, your brain going fuzzy as you feel your high fastly approaching.
"Taking my cock like you were made for me." He mumbles, his hand staying wrapped around your throat as he fucks into you roughly, the counter sharp against you.
Your thoughts are mush, as with a final snap of his hips you're seeing white and squeezing him tight, thrashing around under him with a cry of his name. You feel weightless, his pace picking up once again and his breaths grow ragged against your skin.
"Fuck, I'm cumming, where do you want it?" He chokes out, thrusts growing erratic.
"In me. I'm on the pill please fill me up Gyu."
Your words are like encouragement to him, both hands gripping at your waist as he fucks you like a rag doll, chasing his orgasm. You whine from overstimulation, clamping hard on him when he gave one last deep thrust— spilling his hot seed inside of you with your name on his lips. His hips stutter a few times, thick ropes of cum spilling out as he gives you every last drop. He buries his head into your chest, catching his breath momentarily.
"This turned out better than I expected." You joke, running your fingers through his damp hair.
He looks up with a confused expression.
"I was hoping we would end up like this by the end of the night." You smirk down at him.
"So you were plotting something!"
"I wanted more than just a taste of your meals Gyu. I wanted a taste of you."
He stares up at you from your chest, smiling lazily. Capturing your lips once again he kisses you. He slides out, watching his cum slowly slide out of you onto the counter. His cock has no chance to recover, already twitching with need again.
"We made such a mess in here… This counter needs so much disinfecting my god."
"That, and the food... we gotta put this up." You groan, sitting up. You felt sticky, Mingyu's cum still deep inside of you.
"Fuck that, we'll get it later." He helps you off the counter carefully, your knees wobbling when you stand.
"But Serv Safe-"
"Forget Serv Safe rules for now, I need a taste of something else," He tosses a glance at the cheesecake. "Cheesecake can wait, I got something else to indulge in."
He picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder with a yelp.
"Show me your bedroom, I'm not done with you yet."
You thought Mingyu would be craving a bite of your cheesecake first, not thinking things would end with him wanting to take a bite of you more importantly.
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